Healing Harts
by texasgirl11
Summary: A health crisis, a whirlwind romance, & an unplanned pregnancy change the lives of Jonathan Hart and Jennifer Edwards in ways they never imagined. This is the first FF story I ever wrote. You, my faithful readers, were my guinea pigs back in the day. Your support meant everything to me & still does. I don't own these two, but I love them like mad. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Like so many times before, Jonathan stood at the wall of windows behind his desk staring down at the world below. The streets, the traffic, the people—all moving at what appeared to be a snail's pace. The sky overhead was anything but encouraging. The rains that followed Easter returned, leaving the city to function beneath a dreary shadow. He'd hoped that his first day back would be demanding and eventful. He'd prayed, actually, that his first steps into the office be met with a rash of corporate fires that only he could put out. Looking back at his desk, he could see it was not to be. The silence that left him aching at home had followed him downtown, and he now listened to nothing more than his own thoughts echoing loudly inside his head.

He resumed his spot behind the massive desk, resting quietly in his leather chair. It was, he observed, exactly as he'd left it the Friday before Easter. Clean. Sparse. No signs of business whatsoever. Checking his watch, he found it was almost lunchtime though food had fallen sharply to the bottom of his list. Feelings of hunger were continuously overshadowed by other feelings. Deeper feelings. Something much more desperate than wondering what his next meal would be. He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, taking inventory of everything before him. He ran his hand across the ink blotter. It sat crisp and fresh, without a single notation or drop of ink. The phone beside him showed no signs of activity. The morning correspondence folder, normally overflowing with a mass of memos and faxes sat completely empty. He'd been away for three weeks, and yet no one had noticed. The wheels continued to turn, as each and every cog performed its given task. He wanted to be thankful—to realize and appreciate his hand in establishing a firm that could thrive without him. But the man he'd become could not see the bigger picture. He needed distraction. He longed for corporate diversion. He needed to feel needed. If not at home then at least at work.

The days following Stephen's departure had been almost unbearable. His wife's shell had become impenetrable, and her need to communicate in any form was unapparent. The ghost he'd witnessed the day of the funeral had now taken up full time residence and the home they shared together at the desirable Mandeville Canyon address had now become more of a prison. She hardly ventured downstairs, drifting silently between their bedroom and the nursery to pass the hours. Her moments of sleep and wakefulness were impossible to differentiate. He prayed that his decision to return to the office be protested, and that maybe she'd finally open up to him. But she'd merely nodded when she learned of his plans, showing neither acceptance nor rejection.

He reached into his wallet and found the business card Dr. Sumner had given him. Now smudged and wrinkled, he'd studied it intently for days on end, committing every letter to memory.

 _Dr. Emily McNichol, PhD, LPCC, FT_

 _Psychotherapist/Crisis Interventionist_

He tapped the card against his desk then reached for the button on the intercom.

"Yes, Mr. Hart?" Deanne answered with a soft and pleasant tone.

"Could you come in here for a minute, please?" Jonathan asked.

"Certainly." She responded.

In less than thirty seconds, his secretary entered his office; a small leather-bound notebook and pen in hand. She greeted him with a smile, taking a seat in front of his desk.

"Whenever you're ready." She opened the notebook and prepared to record his every request.

"You can close the notebook." He motioned.

"Alright." She answered warily.

"How long have you known me? Roughly?" He folded his hands together, quietly resting his elbows on his desk.

"Well, let's see. I started working for you about four years ago."

"So you've been plugging away out there at your desk for four years now?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"In the four years since you've been my secretary, can you ever recall a Monday morning when there was complete silence in this office?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I am Jonathan Hart, right? Head of this operation?"

"Yes."

"This is my company?"

"Yes sir." She nodded again with a confused look.

"Then can you please explain why this correspondence folder is empty? Why the phone isn't ringing? And why I have yet to have one person knock on that door and apologize for interrupting me?" His tone was in no way accusatory. Quite the opposite. She could see the longing his eyes and his need for a sense of purpose.

"Well, sir…"

"Is this how it's going to be from here on out?"

"Sir, I…" She started but then stopped, noting the frustration on his face.

"Would you mind finding something for me to do? I'll type your memos. I'll send out faxes. I'll order lunch for everyone and deliver it personally. Just please give me something to do."

She focused her eyes on the man across from her. In the four years she'd been an Hart Industries employee she'd never seen him look so miserable. His normally confident demeanor was absent and the friendly smile he so readily shared with everyone around him was missing.

"Well, my Rolls needs washing and I really should pick up my ball gown from Celebrity Cleaners." She gave him a grin.

"Thank you." He smiled; his first real one in weeks.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Lunch is ready!" Max called from the bottom of the stairs. He waited for her response, but got none. _A tray it is,_ he decided, turning back toward the kitchen with Freeway following closely behind.

Max had spent the morning trying anything and everything to combat the unnerving quiet. He'd taken the dog on an extra long walk. He'd spent an hour in the garden. He'd taken notes on two different Food Network shows. With Jonathan back at the office and Jennifer a recluse upstairs, he longed for some type of stimulating conversation. He dialed the phone in the kitchen, thankful when his call was answered on the second ring.

"Jennifer?" Jonathan answered.

"It's just me." Max responded.

"Is everything alright?"

"I tried to get her to come down for lunch, but no luck."

"Have you seen her at all today?"

"No. She slipped down and got some coffee I think. But that's when I was out walking Atti. I'm going to take a tray up to her in a minute. How're you? You must be swamped up there."

"Don't I wish? This office is no different than where you're standing right now."

"That quiet?"

"Too quiet."

"You coming home for lunch?" Max asked, hopeful for some company.

"There's something I need to do first. But I'll be home early." He again examined the business card in his hand before ending the call with Max. Once more, he pressed the intercom button on his desk.

"Yes?" Deanne answered.

"Listen, do you think you could clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon?"

"I don't know, Mr. Hart. We're awfully busy right now." She joked.

"What if I throw in a wax job on your Rolls?"

"Two coats?" She inquired.

"By hand." He answered.

"Okay, but just this once."

XXXXXXXXXX

The sky was sprinkling by the time Jonathan made it to his car. Despite the bleakness above he had to smile again, thankful for Deanne's humor and her efforts to help him find some much needed normalcy. Just that one small comedic exchange they'd shared had been a boost, and for the first time since his father-in-law had returned home, he felt more like himself again. Sliding in behind the wheel, he gave the business card a final glance before slipping it inside the console. He moved the car into gear and pulled into the noonday traffic. Though the clouds above increased in number, growing darker with each passing moment, he was able to take a cleansing breath and clear his mind.

The traffic en route to his destination was heavy, with the rain beginning to follow suit. He'd quietly debated whether or not to call first, but decided that arriving in person would be more of a challenge. He needed a challenge. A personal victory. A chance to mark this item off his To-Do List. _Make appointment with therapist_ _._

Approaching an intersection near the park, Jonathan stopped at a red light. The rain increased, and he could see dozens of would-be park goers running for cover underneath make-shift umbrellas of jackets and blankets. One couple caught his eye, and suddenly those brief feelings of reassurance he'd experienced vanished. A young man stood in the rain, drenched from head to toe, but happily holding a bright yellow umbrella over the head of his very pregnant companion. The smiles they shared were genuine, and as the light changed, Jonathan could not bring himself to move his car forward. His gaze stayed firmly focused on the couple as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. The rain washed away their image and replaced it with one of himself and Jennifer, kissing in the rain on a sandy beach. The car behind him honked several times, pulling him back to reality. Slowly, he removed his foot from the brake and inched through the intersection. His eyes shifted back and forth between the road ahead and the review mirror, watching the couple until they dissolved behind a wet, gray veil.

XXXXXXXXXX

Max tiptoed up the stairs, tray in hand and dog in tow. They stood outside the bedroom door listening for signs of life within. If she was sleeping, he certainly didn't want to wake her. Days and nights had swapped places and she hardly closed her eyes during the darkest hours. After conferring a moment with his faithful companion, Max tapped lightly on the door and waited for a reply. Again, nothing. He carefully turned the knob and peeked quietly inside.

She sat on the edge of the bed; papers scattered everywhere around her. She was wrapped in Jonathan's robe—a large _E_ monogrammed on the pocket on the left hand side. Max's thoughts turned to that of Hester Prynne, and of all the things that single letter now stood for: evasive, empty, emotionless. Her hair hung in damp strings around her pale face and he was thankful she'd found her way to the shower. He knew in his heart that he couldn't fault her for any of it. Not the silence nor the need to hide. He'd lived in her shoes once upon a time and ached for her to find her way home.

"Jennifer?" He whispered, causing her to jump.

"Oh, Max. I didn't hear you." She quickly folded the paper in her hand, tucking it back into Jonathan's bedside table. The tears were visible and she made no attempt to wipe them away.

"You must be feeling better if you're up to a little spring cleaning." He eyed the mess around her.

"Just going through some old things. Things I need to get rid of." She gathered the items off the bed and floor in hasty fashion then dropped them into the wastebasket beside the desk.

"I brought you some lunch."

"Thanks, but I'm really not very hungry."

"But you skipped breakfast…" He couldn't hide the argumentative tone in his voice.

"I had coffee."

"Coffee's not enough. Now I want you to get comfortable because this tray's heavy." He walked toward the bed, determined not to take no for an answer.

"Alright." She sighed heavily, positioning herself in the bed. Taking the tray from Max's hands, she spied an envelope tucked underneath the white linen napkin.

"Can I bring you anything else?" Max surveyed the tray, seeing that all was in order.

"No. Thank you." She avoided his eyes as she reached for the glass of juice in front of her.

He stood beside the bed, waiting for a sign. An indication that maybe she needed a shoulder or friendly ear. But it never came. So with a nod and a feeling of defeat he conceded, leaving her alone. The dog stayed, resuming his regular place on the chaise in front of the window.

She studied the tray, noting the special effort he'd made to offer several treats she enjoyed. Chicken salad on a fresh croissant. Her favorite pasta salad. A bowl full of sweet strawberries. Just like Jonathan, Max always went the extra mile. Took that extra step to make sure everything in her world was just right even when he knew it wasn't.

She slipped the mysterious envelope from under the napkin, and at once the mystery disappeared. There was no need to look at the return address or the postmark. She recognized his handwriting immediately. It was old-fashioned, precise, and looked as though it just stepped off the page of a grammar school writing primer from 1940. Was it a sermon or a eulogy? A monologue or rant? She knew that whatever it was, a large piece of his heart surely accompanied the words he felt he'd needed to pen. She been waiting, knowing it was just a matter of time. All those things he'd wanted so desperately to say to her before he'd turned and waved one last time, disappearing in the throng of travelers at LAX. With a heavy sigh, she opened the envelope.

XXXXXXXXXX

He found a parking space on the street across from the entrance to Dr. McNichol's office. Though he hadn't realized it before, she officed in the same building with his dentist. The rain was unending, and he sat immobile inside the convertible for several minutes, gripped by apprehension. His entire life had been one of immense privacy. Press leaks and media coverage, though inevitable in his high profile world, were thankfully directed more toward traditional celebrities. Business moguls, while fair game, were generally overlooked in favor of the latest Hollywood gossip. And since taking on a wife, he'd rarely had to deal with flash bulbs and story chasers. Inside, he felt certain that Dr. Emily McNichol would be nothing short of professional. Just knowing that she'd been recommended by Dr. Sumner helped ease his mind somewhat. But it was still his private world. His loss. His hurt. Could he trust the darkest regions of his soul to a total stranger? Would it be easier that way? He rested his hand on his phone, tapping it lightly with his index finger. _Should I call her? Will she tell me she needs me and to come home?_ He was desperate for a sign—something to give him the go-ahead or conversely, something to summon him back home, putting off his To-Do List for yet another day.

He sat in his car for half an hour, waiting on a sign. Watching the main doors of the professional building, he finally established a game plan. _Five more minutes. If someone walks out those doors in the next five minutes, then I'm going in._ It was cowardice and he knew it. It wasn't a game plan. It was nothing more than Liar's Poker. And for weeks he'd been an ace liar. To himself and everyone around him. He'd kept the emptiness hidden, trying to find Jennifer and losing himself in the process. The man he'd once been would have walked confidently into Dr. McNichol's office, taken care of business, and would now be nursing a glass of Scotch and toasting his own triumph. But he wasn't that man anymore.

A sudden and slight break in the rain was followed by an elderly couple emerging from the front of the building. He checked his watch, feeling his heartbeat kick in. Fate called his bluff—with two minutes to spare. True to his promise, he grabbed his umbrella and the handle on the door. With a deep breath, he exited the car, jogging and jumping puddles until he disappeared inside the building.

The lobby was dark and quiet, but not entirely unwelcoming. It was calm. Peaceful. And though he'd visited his dentist in that same locale for several years, he'd never noticed the benches or plants or artwork. _Time to take care of business._

His feet carried him to the large directory, hanging on the wall behind a glass case. There, in the top right corner, fifth name from the top, he saw it. _Dr. E. McNichol, Suite 110._ Again, he felt the rhythm of his heartbeat increase, and his palms began to sweat. But his feet continued on, moved by a force of their own, until he found himself opening up the large oak door to her office.

The waiting area was bright and cheerful—a sharp contrast to the lobby. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the light. He quickly sized up the bodies in the room. A gentlemen in a business suit, looking much like a contemporary, sat in the corner reading a magazine. He never looked up; completely aware of anyone's entry. A woman sat beside him, quietly engrossed in a novel. Her eyes traveled briefly from her book to Jonathan, but she quickly returned to her reading. A receptionist sat behind a small desk just to the left of the entrance, and she smiled pleasantly at him.

"Good afternoon." She spoke softly.

"Hello." He whispered, trying not to disturb the couple across the room. "I'd like to make an appointment."

"Is this for yourself or a family member?"

"For myself. And my wife. Well, I don't know if she…" He stopped, unsure what to say.

"Have either of you met with Dr. McNichol before?"

"No ma'am." He shook his head. "We were referred by Dr. Julius Sumner."

"May I ask the nature of your experience?"

"I'm sorry?" He didn't understand her question.

"Are you interested in bereavement counseling?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I have a couple of forms I'll need you to fill out."

"Sure. Thank you." He took the papers from her, selecting a pen from the cup on her desk.

"You may take them with you, or if you have the time, you can fill them out here."

"I've got time. I'd like to see Dr. McNichol as soon as possible."

"Fill those out then we'll take a look at her schedule. I'm sure we'll be able to find some way to accommodate you both." She smiled again, handing him a clipboard.

Jonathan took a seat on the small sofa closest to the door. He filled out the first sheet in a matter of seconds, giving all the rote yet pertinent information of his life. Name. Address. Phone numbers. Insurance. He removed the first sheet, replacing it with the second and final form. The first side was easy enough—his complete medical history. Hospitalizations. Surgeries. Former and current medications. Nothing he couldn't answer, though dates were somewhat hazy and he'd had to guess on a few. But when he flipped over to the backside, the questions became exponentially more difficult. And now the blanks on the page laughed at him, mocking him with a hateful jeer. The questions, while necessary, were cold and impersonal and he wasn't sure if he could continue.

 _Whom did you lose?_

 _What were the circumstance surrounding the death?_

 _How long ago did the death occur?_

 _Describe the circumstances of the death and how it's affected you._

 _Why did you decide to participate in therapy?_

While the first three question could be satisfied with fairly short and straight-forward answers, the final two questions were beyond his grasp. The amount of space given was limited, making the task that much more daunting. _How the hell can I possibly explain the affects of his death? In twenty words or less?_

He filled in the first three blanks despite the feeling of helplessness coming over him. The lightheaded sensation he'd experienced at the funeral returned. He stood on shaky legs, returning the forms and clipboard to the secretary. He couldn't breathe. He needed to get outside. She spoke to him, but he couldn't hear her; the ringing in his ears blocking out all sound around him. Shaking his head, he turned to the door with a promise to call back another time.

XXXXXXXXXX

How he got there, he didn't know. The car, while not Ava, had somehow read his mind and taken him to the closest watering hole. They were frequent guests in the restaurant, but Jonathan was only in search of liquid comfort and planned to ride out the afternoon hours in the bar. He walked toward the hostess stand and was greeted by a familiar face.

"Mr. Hart?" The man looked surprised.

"Hi Antonio." He nodded.

"You're a little early for dinner." He consulted his watch.

"I'm just here for a drink."

"Of course. Will Mrs. Hart be joining you?"

"Not anytime soon, I'm afraid."

"Well, enjoy." The gentleman nodded, motioning to the bar.

Jonathan was surprised at the number of patrons in the bar. It wasn't even close to happy hour, but it was a Monday—so close enough. As he approached the bar, he collided with a woman and his Italian loafers paid the price—an entire highball giving them a whiskey bath.

"Oh I'm so sorry!" She looked up with eyes full of embarrassment.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." He inspecting the damage.

"I'm really sorry."

"It's fine, really. I had them Scotch-Garded."

"That was bourbon." She teased.

"I was afraid you were going to say that." He gave her a smile. "Would you like another drink?"

"It was my fault entirely. You don't need to—"

"Bartender, could you set her up with one more? And I'll have Macallan on the rocks please. Exactly what are my feet bathing in?" He glanced down at his shoes for a moment before meeting her blue eyes again.

"Weller and water." She settled onto the barstool behind her, removing a pack of Marlboro Lights from her purse.

"I'll get that for you." Jonathan grabbed a lighter from the end of the bar.

"Thank you." She blew a thin line of smoke between soft lips, then offered another smile.

"Here you are." Jonathan nodded, placing a fresh drink in front of her. He took his own and slipped the bartender a fifty.

"Thank you." She nodded.

He clicked his glass against hers with a slight smile, taking the empty barstool beside her. The bartender returned, offering Jonathan his change. As he silently counted the bills, the woman beside him continued to speak, trying to engage him in pleasant conversation. Though he didn't really feel like talking, she persisted…everything from Dodgers baseball to the war in Iraq to her horoscope in the current issue of Cosmopolitan magazine. Jonathan focused on the flat screen above the bar, giving her nothing more than an occasional nod.

"I read an interesting article in Cosmo. Couples that meet in bars have the lowest divorce rates in the country."

"Never believe anything you read in Cosmo." He took another sip of his drink.

A brief minute of silence passed before she spoke again. "You're not you waiting for someone, are you?" She looked up at him with a hopeful expression.

It was then that a dream from weeks before jumped to the forefront of his mind. For a minute he left his body and examined the scene before him, comparing it with images that woke him in the night. A woman. Bourbon. A secret encounter. A woman who'd wanted him. A woman who'd hung onto his every word and made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time—needed. _It's just one drink. What's the harm in that? One drink and she'll never know…_

Though she was young and beautiful, she wasn't enough to tempt him. Not her dark hair falling across her shoulders. Not her blue eyes gazing up at him. Not her perfectly manicured nails wrapped seductively around the end of her cigarette. He knew in his heart that he'd never suffer physical temptation again. But his emotions whispered in his ear, playing Devil's Advocate. Maybe these were the signs he'd waited for. A kind face. A soft voice. A vacant corner booth. It wouldn't be the first time two strangers shared cocktails and confessions, leaving their burdens in their glasses when the bottles ran dry. Maybe he didn't need Dr. Emily McNichol. Maybe he just needed the company of another lonely soul.

"No, but there's someone's waiting for me." He downed his drink and placed his glass firmly back on the bar. "If you'll excuse me, please."

It looked as though evening arrived early, with the cloudy skies growing darker. Another band of showers followed him through the parking lot and he was soaked by the time he made it back into to his car. His heart pounded fiercely as he processed what happened inside the restaurant. Twice that day he'd been given the opportunity to share himself—both on paper and in a crowded bar. And twice he'd run away.

Flipping up the console, he searched until he located the worn business card. He turned it over and over in his hands as his mind replayed the events of the last three weeks. His gentle words hadn't been enough. The looks, the touches, the silent pleas for help from powers above had not been enough to bring his wife around. With each passing day, he watched her drift further and further away. And now he felt himself standing at a crossroads. He knew if he didn't step forward with some measure of action, then surely they would be lost. But the name on the card wasn't familiar. Though he'd looked at her name hundreds of times, the thought of sitting before Dr. Emily McNichol and sharing his most private pain seemed deplorable. He didn't want to verbally rehash the last twenty one days of his life with a complete stranger. In his heart he knew there was only one person who could understand his hurt. Only one person who could bring him back. And like everything else in his life, she'd slipped unexpectedly away.

He started the car, checking the mirror as he put the gearshift in reverse. Catching a glimpse of his eyes, he recognized a man he hadn't seen in a long time. A man who'd split his days between the Medical Center and their apartment just a year before. It was the same misplaced look he'd worn day after day, sitting on the uncomfortable furniture in the ICU. A man waiting to hear the fate of someone he loved deeply. Now fast forward through one year, one marriage, and one lost angel. Replace Max's aneurysm with something so dark he couldn't even say it out loud. And still Fate sat beside him, not saying a word.

He didn't know where the road would take him, but he needed to drive. To empty his mind of day's events. He wanted to run home to her and bolt himself inside her innermost room. But the ghost standing guard at that secret door would only stare through him with hollow eyes, denying him entry. He'd had such hopes for his first day back in the real world. And once again, the real world let him down. He'd read the books. He'd caught glimpses of the talk shows. _There will be good days and bad days._

He drove in silence, allowing his thoughts to move in time with the windshield wipers. Back and forth. Past and present. Before he knew it, he was taking the corners sharply on a familiar road, again unsure how he arrived there. His subconscious mind was now in control, taking him back along the path he and Jennifer loved to cruise along on Sunday afternoons. Without thinking, his hand reached for the knob on the stereo. He hadn't listened to anything other than tears and silence for so long. He wasn't sure if it had been a conscious decision or not—his recent avoidance of the radio. Too many times, the songs spoke to him with an eerie exactitude. But he longed to hear something upbeat and familiar. He hit the second preset button, tuning in a soft rock station—soothing music to help him guide the car and his heavy heart back home. He promised he'd be home early. At least he'd follow through with one thing.

A familiar guitar riff opened up, and he reached again for the knob, turning up the volume until the sounds of the rain outside were barely audible. Gordon Lightfoot's haunting lyrics seemed evermore so, as though he was hearing it for the first time. And in a way, he was. The song was the same, but he wasn't. Had he heard it a month before, he would have never imagined the words speaking directly to him _. Oh Jennifer, if I could read your mind, Love…_

He continued to drive as the lyrics created painful thoughts. His foot eased slightly off the gas pedal and the rain pelted the windshield until it resembled the hopeless pictures inside his mind. Thousands of tiny dots wiped away then instantly replaced by thousands more in a vicious cycle that seemed without end. He wasn't sure if it was the rain or his tears, but the road ahead of him blurred until the center line became a distorted yellow ribbon on the asphalt. Signaling, he pulled onto the shoulder and stopped, staring out into a world he no longer recognized. The wiper blades continued to move rapidly across the windshield. His thoughts moved rapidly back in time to a place where he stood under a bright white tent with a ring and promise. She'd come to him in what he could only describe now as a dream. Running his hands along the steering wheel, he could still feel layers of beaded French silk beneath his fingers. He could still see layers of auburn hair falling across her pillow. He could see the look in her autumn eyes. Her look. The one she reserved just for him. The look that spokes volumes though her lips never moved. A look, he feared, he might never again behold. He sat for a while with his forehead resting upon the steering wheel. The rain stopped, but his tears didn't.

XXXXXXXXXX

He slipped his key in the backdoor, careful not to make a sound. He'd sat in the car for several minutes, letting both the engine and his mind idle. The majority of his thoughts had been washed away with the downpour and now he was left with only one question: Should he bother going inside, or just disappear unnoticed into the guest house? Fall into bed beside a woman who wasn't truly there, or stave off the helplessness for another night in the quiet confines of their backyard retreat? Either way, it would be a day to end in silence and defeat. The roads and rain had taken him away for hours, but now, standing at the threshold of the backdoor, he was back to the place he dreaded most. A place that at one time had been his sole source of comfort. The only place he could truly relax, sharing something unique and beautiful with a uniquely beautiful woman. With the twist of the doorknob, he exhaled and prepared to embark upon another lonely night. Checking his watch, he could see by the faint patio light that it was after midnight. _So much for being home early._

"What are you doing up?" Jonathan's voice was soft and calm. He closed and locked the door behind him, dropping his damp raincoat on the kitchen counter.

"I couldn't sleep. At least not until I knew you were home." Max whispered.

"Sorry I kept you up. Go on to bed. I'm gonna have a drink then I'm going up myself." Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, sharing a weak smile.

"Would you like some company?"

It was more a request than a question. Jonathan studied the old man's eyes, full of gentleness and truth but stained with sorrow. In all their years together, he'd never seen him look more distraught. He knew that just as Stephen ached for Jennifer, Max's hurt was the same for him. They'd been best friends, gambling buddies, and the strictest of confidants. They'd traveled the world, nursed each other's hangovers, shared birthday and holiday dinners. And now, thinking back on the last twenty-one days, he suddenly realized that he'd been doing to Max what Jennifer was doing to him. Distance. Avoidance. Protecting himself, but at someone else's expense. He paused a moment, then found a genuine smile.

"I'd love it." He patted his dear friend's shoulder, following him out of the kitchen.

The living room was dark, except for the lights behind the bar. Jonathan's smile grew when he noticed the glass of Remy waiting for him. It sat quietly atop a beige cocktail napkin, embossed with a gold H. _I was right. He does have radar._ He settled himself on a barstool in front of his drink, while Max circled around behind the bar.

"How 'bout some cards? A couple of hands of Gin?" He pulled open a drawer in search of a deck.

"No, I don't think so." Jonathan took a sip of his cognac, allowing the distinct combination of fruit and spice to warm him.

"How 'bout Chess? We could start a game?" He disappeared below the bar, checking inside a lower cabinet.

"Not tonight."

"Well then…" Max re-emerged with a knowing look on his face and a large sand timer in his hands. It was an exquisite piece—handcrafted of cocobolo wood. A gift from Jonathan, purchased on one of his many trips to Central America.

"Where'd you find this?" Jonathan asked, examining the lost treasure.

"It's been here behind the bar ever since we moved in. I've tried to find the right spot for it, but I think it's one of those things that can only be admired on _certain_ occasions."

Max gently flipped the timer upside-down. Instantly, grains of sand began making their hasty decent to the bottom of the glass bulb. Jonathan's gaze turned from that of his drink to the smooth wood grain that encased the hourglass. Running his hand lightly along the top, he focused on the rich color of the cocobolo wood. It was a deep red, highlighted with subtle streaks of gold and amber. It reminded him of the auburn layers of Jennifer's hair. Without realizing it, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together and the subconscious feel of her hair against his skin calmed him even more.

Again a smile returned to his lips as he thought about all the times he and Max sat in the presence of the timer engaged in a raucous debate or merely pondering life's mysteries. The grains of sand equaled only a quarter-hour, but they'd been able to solve many of the world's problems in much less time. It had served them well over the years, their fifteen minute confessional timer, as Max had dubbed it. They'd selected a multitude of topics and had limited their arguments for the length of time measured in sandy minutes. Most nights, it had been a timer of truth, and Jonathan knew the reason it had suddenly resurfaced.

"We haven't conversed in the company of this in a while." He smiled up at Max, giving the timer a tap.

"Not since NATO went to war over Kosovo."

"That's the night we officially declared heavy political issues unsuitable for cocktail discussion."

"Remember that night we filled out the entire NCAA basketball bracket in less than ten minutes? Backwards even."

"That was the year that Arizona upset Kentucky, right?"

"And you lost a bundle to Archer when North Carolina lost in the Final Four."

"What about that night that we re-wrote the lyrics to that Beatles song? How'd it go?"

"You mean Hey Prude?" Max flashed a big grin.

"I don't know if it was the margaritas or the jet-lag, but we were on a roll that night."

"That was right after we flew back from Caracas, remember? And you'd coaxed that little dark haired waitress in the bar up to your room. Only you didn't know that she was—"

"Seventeen?"

"You scared that poor girl to death. No wonder she locked herself in your bathroom."

"Her father was none to happy to spring her out either."

"Of all the Venezuelan beauties in that hotel, you had to pick the one that was underage and whose father was the head of hotel maintenance."

"Yeah well, my Spanish wasn't very good back then. I could only count to ten."

"Your Spanish isn't good now."

Several moments of silence fell between them. They both focused on the grains of golden sand, falling down through the narrow strait of the hourglass. Again he looked at Max; ashamed of his actions or lack thereof. The words were there, but saying everything he thought and felt would be jumping off the cliff. And for three long weeks, he'd managed to teeter on the edge. He didn't know if he was truly ready to let go…

"There's something I gotta tell you, Mr. H. Something I've been meaning to say for a while." Max finally spoke, looking into Jonathan's eyes with fatherly kindness.

"Please Max…" Jonathan raised his hand in protest, shaking his head.

"No, let me finish." He pleaded.

Jonathan sighed and nodded, but made no verbal response.

"You and Mrs. H mean everything to me. Everything." His voice cracked and he had to look away. "I know it never will, but I want it to be the way it used to be. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. If you want me to leave you alone, then I'll leave you alone. If you want me to just leave…" His voice trailed off, and Jonathan could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"Aw, Max…" Jonathan continued to shake his head.

"Just say the word. I'll do whatever you want me to do. No questions asked. I can be on a plane back to Seattle first thing tomorrow morning. I've already cleared it with Dr. Walsh."

"Of course we don't want you to leave. We need you. I need you. Now more than ever. I know haven't told you, but just knowing you're here is more comforting to me than I can even express." He extended his hand and gripped Max's tightly.

"I wish I could say that I know what you're going through, but I don't. I only know how I felt when I lost Mags. It was the lowest point of my life."

"I don't even know what I feel anymore. I went to Dr. McNichol's office today, but I bailed at the last second. Then, I drove around a while. Ended up across town at Antonio's place and had a drink in the bar."

"Is that where you've been this whole time?"

"No. I've been burning a tank of gas just driving around in the rain. Driving and thinking." He swirled the last few drops of cognac around the bottom of his glass.

"Sometimes the road is the best therapist."

"Sometimes. But not today."

Another quiet moment lapsed before Max spoke again.

"Mr. Kaufmann called." Max reached into his pocket, producing a folded piece of paper. He slid it across the bar in front of Jonathan.

"He did? What'd he say?" Jonathan glanced at the note. It was just a phone number and time written in Max's casual hand.

"The marker is finished. They're delivering it tomorrow if you'd like to be there when they do it."

"Does Jennifer know? I mean, did you tell her he called?"

"Nope. Haven't seen her since lunch. She's been very quiet today. I didn't press her. I left a tray outside your bedroom around six, but she hasn't' touched it. She got a letter today—from Stephen. I guess she was just too upset to eat."

Jonathan examined the note in his hands. "You wanna know something crazy? I don't even remember what it looks like." He could see himself standing with his father-in-law, trying bravely to make decisions as to granite colors and fonts, but the image of the grave marker was nothing more than an out of focus photograph.

"It doesn't matter. We remember Lucien…and that's all that matters."

Just hearing his name made Jonathan's heart beat faster. It was the first time Max had ever said his name out loud. Tomorrow, a piece of stone would show the world that on Easter Sunday of that year, a baby boy had come quietly into the world and left the very same way. But the love he'd created from the moment of his conception still echoed loudly inside them all.

"I once asked you how you gave Maggie back. You said you sat in the dark for a long time. That's exactly how I feel—like I've been imprisoned in a room of total darkness. And it's not just because we lost him. I've lost her now too."

"But I also told you that when God turns out the light, He sends you a flashlight."

"I don't think there'll be a flashlight for us, Max." Jonathan looked down at his hand, quietly tracing the rim of his glass.

"Maybe it's not your job to wait on a flashlight. Maybe you have to be her flashlight now."

"I've been trying. She won't even look at me."

"Maybe your light's not strong enough yet. Maybe she can't look at you because the pain in your eyes is too much for her right now. I bet if you work on making your light brighter, then you can show her the way." He gave Jonathan a hard look then turned his attention back to the hourglass. The last of the sand was making is descent to the bottom of the glass bulb.

"Looks like times up for tonight."

"Not entirely." Jonathan slid off the barstool reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He set it on the bar and looked into his Max's eyes with a serious expression. "I know I don't say it often enough, but I love you, Max."

"I love you too, Mr. H. I love you too." He reached once more for his hand, giving it a firm and caring shake. They stood, nodding and silently acknowledging the feelings they had for one another. Jonathan knew the love he felt for Max was no different than if his own father had been standing there with him, holding his hand with loving compassion.

"Now you're up way past your bedtime. Let's call it quits." He gave Max's hand a final pat before releasing it.

"You head up. I'll shut everything down." Max reached for Jonathan's empty glass.

"I'll close up shop tonight. I've got something I need to do first. You go on to bed."

"You're sure?"

"I got it. Now go on." He made a sweeping motion with his hand, urging him to go.

Max shuffled around the end of the bar. He turned one last time, clearing his throat before speaking.

"G'night, Mr. H."

"G'night, Max."

His grey-haired comrade disappeared and Jonathan was once again alone. He stared at the timer, unable to hide a smile. _Well, he's done it again. That simple, straightforward wisdom that rivals the world's most renowned thinkers. And once again, he did it in under fifteen minutes._

Reaching for his wallet, he flipped it open and quickly retrieved Dr. McNichol's business card. He grabbed the phone from the end of bar and without hesitation, dialed her number. Her machine answered on the third ring, advising him to follow the standard drill after the beep.

"Uh hello. My name is Jonathan Hart. I was referred by Dr. Julius Sumner. I'd like to make an appointment."

XXXXXXXXXX

He was surprised to find her in their bed. Several nights she'd bypassed their bedroom altogether and sequestered herself in the nursery. Her body was still and he closed the door as gently as he could, trying not to wake her. Freeway looked up at him from his spot under the antique French writing desk, but quickly returned to his doggy dreams. Quietly, he slipped off his shoes and tiptoed around to her side of the bed. The light from the bathroom fell in a narrow sliver across their bedroom, faintly illuminating her face. He moved to the chair beside the desk and sat down. This was their time. Well, it was his time anyway. The time when he could look at his wife without the fear of her running away. It had now become part of his daily routine. So much so that he set his alarm for four a.m. just so he could silently venture into the nursery and watch his wife as she slept. This is what their marriage had become: Jennifer lying imprisoned inside an invisible cage while he observed her from a safe distance. He wanted to shake her—to wake her up from her seemingly comatose state. But then what? He didn't have the answers. He'd already forgotten the questions. She'd taken off on her horse many times before, but she'd always come home when she was ready. But this horse was different. This horse was stronger. Faster. Wild. A horse that might break free and run forever and never bring her back home.

He stood, eager to undress and slip into bed beside her. Removing his jacket and tie, he dropped them on the back of the chair. He reached into his pockets, removing some spare change, the phone message from Max, and the little silver heart. Placing the items quietly on the desk, he felt his heart beat rapidly as he thought about the completion of the grave marker. They hadn't been to the cemetery since the day they buried Lucien. Jonathan had driven by there twice that evening, but couldn't bring himself to turn in. Tomorrow, he'd have to put fear behind him. He wanted to be there when the marker was placed. But could he convince Jennifer to go? She hadn't left the house since they day of the funeral. Maybe this would be the first step.

He eyed the silver heart, lying among the shiny coins on the desk. It had been a part of him from the moment Jennifer gave it to him. He'd carried it everywhere. Even in those first days following the funeral. The days when he didn't make it out of his robe. It was there, providing unseen comfort whenever he reached into his pocket.

 _Maybe she needs it now_ , he considered, picking up the heart and returning it to his pocket. Moving behind the desk, he searched silently for a piece of paper and a pen. He found both and turned to exit their bedroom. As he did, the pen slipped from his hand and fell noiselessly to the floor…and that's when something else caught his eye. The wastebasket beside the desk—overflowing with a mass of papers. Papers that hadn't been there that morning. His curiosity kicked in to overdrive. _Has she been writing? Is she trying to find her way back?_ He debated for a moment. _Should I?_ He recovered the lost pen, picked up the wastebasket, and tiptoed back out of the room.

Across the hall, he found the moon and stars nightlight glowing inside the nursery. He turned on the lamp beside the bed, and collected the mysterious papers. Some were wrinkled; waded up in tight balls. Others, it appeared, were merely dropped into the receptacle without a thought. There were pages and pages…written on her monogrammed stationary, the kitchen notepad, sheets of plain white copy paper, and lined notebook paper. He quietly sorted them out on the floor in front of the crib, amazed at the sheer number of pages. _She's been writing letters this whole time…_

Jonathan sat on the floor, wearing only his suit pants and socks, and read her every word. It had taken a while, but he made it through every single letter. The tears he'd cried on the side of the road returned and he didn't even try to stop them. Every line was composed with the all encompassing love that could only come from a mother. The were both beautiful and heartbreaking and Jonathan ached, realizing Lucien would never know the beauty of his mother's smile, the warmth of her kiss or the calming nature of her hands upon his skin. He wondered if he'd experience those same blessings again himself. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he gathered up the letters and organized them into a neat stack. He then sat down on the bed, pen and paper in hand, and completed the task he'd intended from the start.

 _There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it._

 _-Edith Wharton_

He didn't sign it, but decided to let the quote speak for itself. He placed the note on the pillow, along with the little silver heart. Glancing at his watch he was suddenly aware that she had not left their bed. It was almost three, and he decided to put Jennifer's letters out of sight. On the shelf inside LP's closet, he located the box that contained Lucien's baby book. He removed the lid and book and placed the stack of letters inside. Replacing the lid, he pushed it silently to the back of the shelf. The baby book, he decided, would be better camouflaged if it remained out in the open. He wiggled it in between _The Big Book of Mother Goose_ and _Five Minute Bedtime Stories_ on the large bookcase. Walking to the door, he turned for one final look. The Little Prince on the wall looked down at him with a regal expression, and it made him smile.

"G'night, Champ." He whispered.

He returned to their bedroom, finding a vacant spot on Jennifer's side of the bed. Making a beeline for his bedside table, he quickly switched off his alarm clock. He could hear the water running, and he wondered whether he should venture into the bathroom or just wait for her. But the decision was made for him as Jennifer rounded the corner and stopped cold when she saw him.

"You're home?" She asked.

"I got in around midnight."

"Where've you been?"

"I couldn't sleep. I was just in the other room—reading. I didn't want to wake you."

"Oh." She nodded.

"Max said you didn't eat much for dinner. You want me to go down and get you anything?"

"No. I'm not hungry."

"How 'bout something to drink? I could get you some juice or something."

"I don't need anything." She spoke with a despondent tone.

 _Yes you do! You need me. Say it! You need me, Jennifer, just like I need you. Please don't do this to me. I can't live like this. I don't want it to be this way._

"Alright. But if you change your mind…" He sighed, looking at her with helpless longing, but she made no further response.

With the conversation at a standstill, he headed into the bathroom to complete his nightly ritual. He'd now been up close to twenty four hours straight, and he could fight off sleep no longer. Luckily, Hart Industries could function without him. And if he called in sick later, who would notice? He dropped his toothbrush in the cup beside the sink and turned off the light. He'd fully expected to find their bed empty, thinking that Jennifer had probably moved on to the nursery. But she hadn't. She was back in her place, quietly resting with her back to him. He wanted to take it as some sort of sign but he knew better. Too many times he'd thought that maybe—just maybe—she was coming around. But it always ended in disappointment and his hopes were always severed. Crawling into bed, he turned onto his left side to face her. He wanted desperately to touch her, but he talked himself out of it. Another minute passed and he felt himself slipping away. His hand found the edge of her pillow and the tips of his fingers brushed against her hair. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Just the feel of a few wisps of her auburn curls relaxed him in a way he couldn't describe.

"Jonathan?" She whispered.

"Yes."

"I'm glad you're home."

"Me too." He reached out and stroked her head, letting his fingers run softly through her hair. She didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either.

 **TBC**

 **All reviews welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

_Thirteen months earlier_

The first light of dawn filtered through the glass wall of his LA apartment. He stared out into the disappearing darkness without blinking. The rays peeked between the slats of the blinds, casting odd shapes around the room and a long shadow upon him. He was lying still, listening to the tick of the antique clock on the mantle and replaying the words in his head. Though his body craved rest, he had fallen asleep for only a few hours since returning from the hospital. Looking at his watch, he knew he should quickly shower and dress and get back to the Medical Center. He was beginning to feel the effects akin to stress and lack of sleep as he felt his body betray him. His legs were heavy, like lead weights strapped to cinder blocks. He studied the ceiling, noting a cobweb on the ornate chandelier that hung so elegantly above. Only three days had passed, and already their home was showing signs of his absence. A man alone, he summoned the willpower from deep within himself to make his way to the kitchen.

Though he'd lived in the corner apartment for two years, he hadn't spent much time there—which was not by his choosing. The demands of his firm kept him jockeying between London, New York and Los Angeles. Three exciting and wealthy cities—the "Three Musketeers" as he called them. Early in his career he'd jokingly aspired for global domination, with a plan to attack the markets in those locales first. And of course, he was nothing short of brilliant in his quest—mission accomplished. But at what price?

Normally, the smell of his favorite blend would be finding its way to his bedroom by this time of the morning. Years of struggling to find just the right alarm clock to awaken him, he relied on the coffee pot to start his day. And without his trusted compadre around to kick start the morning, he found himself uneasily alone. The kitchen was foreign to him—and that was just the way he liked it. A fully stocked bar was all he required.

Looking in the pantry, he searched for some Columbian comfort but came up empty handed. He checked the cabinets. Nothing. _Where on earth is Max hiding the coffee?_ After a second sweep of the pantry shelves, he snapped his fingers in sudden remembrance and headed to the 'frig. He opened the massive stainless steel door and quickly searched the shelves. Tucked neatly inside the door, he found the bag of Café Valverde that had made the trip back with him from Bolivia. Retrieving the bag with a smile, he could hear Max's gravelly accent as he recalled their last conversation Saturday morning…

 _Listen Mr. H, you have to keep these java beans fresh. It's not like you can just pop over to South America every morning to pick this stuff up. I'm storing it in the freezer, just so you know._

He set to work making his coffee. A meaningless task, making coffee, but one he was frankly thankful for. It was comforting to him in a way to be standing and doing those things which Max would normally take care of. _Max. Please, Lord, not Max,_ he pleaded silently, watching as the coffee maker released a black thin stream of liquid into the carafe. Finding Max's favorite mug in the dishwasher, he gave it a quick rinse. He filled the cup and turned back toward the 'frig for some milk. Stopping halfway, he decided to skip the milk and go full strength. He had a feeling that black coffee would soon find its way to the top of his preferred beverage list, narrowly nudging out Glenlivet on the rocks. With the days that lie ahead of him, however, surely a taste of both would be in order. Mug in hand, he tiptoed up the spiral iron staircase to the cupola—a hidden sanctuary on the third floor. It was the single reason he'd bought the property, being a sucker for a great view. Especially one with three hundred sixty degrees of pleasure. He'd just as soon rent out the remaining five thousand square feet below and live up in the clouds with nothing more than a good book and an incredible city view.

Feeling the life slowly returning to him, he headed back down to the main floor and his bedroom suite. Passing the table in the entry hall, he noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. _It'll wait,_ he thought to himself. If the hospital we're trying to reach him, they would have called his cell. Archer and Diane were in New York. And he'd instructed his secretary to handle everything in his absence, so he doubted it was business. No one else was aware of what had happened except Angela. And right now, the last thing he needed was a distraction. With coffee still in hand, he desired only one other thing: a good, long shower.

He placed his mug on the large marble vanity and unlaced his running shoes. Turning the water to the hottest setting, he peeled off his rumpled khakis. He removed his shirt, careful to avoid the large cut on his right hand, and stepped inside. Allowing the water to beat down on his back, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. Images of the past seventy two hours flashed through his mind in rapid succession, stopping with immense clarity on the events of Saturday night: the dinner party at Doug and Pam's, dancing with Angela at the rooftop club, stopping for a nightcap at his favorite watering hole, and the crash that awoke him at four in the morning. How could a memorable, carefree evening come to such an abrupt and reality-checking end? The two days he'd spent in the ICU waiting area had been brutal, as his best friend balanced somewhere between life and death, leaving him to wrestle with dark feelings he hadn't encountered in years.

Again, he played out the details of the nightmare over in his head. When he'd heard the crash, he thought that he was dreaming. He'd opened his eyes and listened intently in the early morning darkness for several seconds before hearing his cry. Rushing down the hallway toward Max's room, he'd quickly flipped on the light only to find an empty bed. He continued on to the living room and it was there he found Max, lying in a pool of broken glass. The crash? The result of a large mirror, broken to bits on the polished wood floor. At first, he assumed that Max had simply lost his footing and stumbled into the wall, knocking the mirror down. Without hesitation, he hurried to get him to his feet. In an attempt to help him up, he placed his hand under Max's head, slicing it on a mirrored shard. It was then he realized that Max was unconscious.

The moments that followed were cloudy in his mind. The 911 call, the paramedics, the ride to the hospital. It was as though they happened years ago, yet at the same, within seconds of each other. Angela had been right there with him, trying to keep him calm. She insisted that she ride with them in the ambulance, but he'd refused. He called the doorman and asked if he would please see Ms. Kirkley home. Following the medical team into the elevator, he spoke in the calmest voice he could muster as his wounded hand gently smoothed Max's wiry hair. As the elevator doors closed, he could see Angela standing in the doorway of his apartment, wrapped in his brown, monogrammed bathrobe.

The tubes, the machines, the meetings with Dr. Walsh—it was all a blur. He wasn't accustomed to giving over control of anything in his life. He'd been forced to surrender as a boy, but not now. He knew the bus was being driven by someone else and fighting Fate was something he just didn't have the energy to do. While the water washed down over his tired body, he placed his hands upon the tiled shower wall. Bracing himself, he prayed quietly that Max would recover. He shut the water off and stepped out of the shower. He decided he'd better shave, though he really didn't feel like taking the time. Navigating the razor across his chin proved to be a challenge with the cut he'd received. Suffering only a minor knick, however, he decided that he was presentable enough for the ICU waiting room. He moved toward his closet and pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a clean polo. Normally, he spent his weekdays in custom-tailored business suits. But the furniture in the waiting room was uncomfortable and a suit and tie would only compound the problem.

As he walked back to the bathroom to grab his shoes, he spied the framed photo of Angela on the bedside table. It was a great shot of her and the only article of personal note in the entire room. He'd snapped it atop the most difficult black run in Vail. Her perfect pageboy flipped out playfully from underneath a bright pink ski cap. She was a very attractive blond and she turned quite a few heads when she entered a room. Thinking back to the blinking light in the hall, he knew he should give her a call. But he just wasn't in the mood to rehash everything that he and Dr. Walsh had discussed. Luckily, Angela was a strong woman. She wasn't the type that expected check-in calls throughout the day. And he'd been very straightforward with her about his view of relationships. He'd arrived at his forty-eighth year without the baggage of a wife and family, and secretly it was his greatest accomplishment. Or was it? With Max lying unconscious just a few miles away, he suddenly began to have questions. He questioned his own intentions. Not just with Angela, but with women in general. He wasn't in love with her and didn't pretend to be. She was bright and funny and she came from good stock. She knew the difference between sour mash and single malt. She knew how to tell a dirty joke and still appear to be a lady. She knew how to handle herself when mingling in his corporate world—a huge prerequisite on his list. They were friends. Friends, with benefits. But to say they were close, in that he shared something special with her would be a lie. He'd met dozens fascinating women from his travels—rich, poor, young, old. He'd enjoyed the company of many and offered his bed to most. But as far as finding someone special, well, that was a treasure he just didn't have time to go in search of—especially not now, with Max in the hospital.

He grabbed a lightweight jacket and his keys, along with a western novel, and turned toward the door. Pausing briefly at the answering machine, he rapped his fingers several times on the phone. Shaking his head, he walked out of the apartment and headed to the underground parking garage.

Behind the wheel, he felt in control of his life once again. He loved cars and he loved them two ways: fast and expensive. He turned the stereo from the retro disco station that Angela had programmed to one that played classic rock. Though he enjoyed all types of music, he preferred a more forceful beat while maneuvering his way through morning rush hour traffic. _Why is the traffic in this town always at a standstill,_ he wondered, as he counted off the seconds waiting at yet another red light. Of course, traffic was always difficult around the Medical Center. _Medicine,_ he thought. _That's one business, unfortunately, that will always be booming._ Luckily, he'd never had reason to spend any time there. But now, he figured, it would become his second home. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel with the beat of the tune trying to collect his thoughts as he pulled into the main parking garage. The valet motioned for him to stop, but he waved him off. He pulled up to the automated ticket register and pressed the button. He grabbed the meter ticket and drove through. As luck would have it, he found a parking spot just around the first corner. He collected his cell phone and book and grabbed a handful of change from the ashtray. Swinging his jacket over his shoulder, he made his way to the main building.

The elevator carried him to the sixth floor and he stepped out into the harsh fluorescent lights. A group of at least ten people was already assembled in the waiting area. Most of them appeared to be dazed and drained, as though they'd just run a marathon in bare feet. A man and a woman sat in the corner, comforting one another, as tears fell silently from the woman's eyes. Two small children, siblings most likely, lay on the floor coloring. The same, rigid, institutional chairs had not changed overnight. It was immaculately clean, but not very inviting. What the décor lacked, the expertise of medicine that was practiced there more than made up for. The intensive care unit of the neuro-trauma wing was run like a highly professional and well-oiled machine. And he wanted nothing but the best for Max. He signed in at the nurses' station and affixed a family visitor badge to his shirt. He glanced at his watch. Seven forty-three. He stared at the visitation schedule for the day. He wouldn't be allowed in to see Max until eight-thirty. The ward was very stringent on the amount of time that family members were allowed to be with patients. There were six visitation periods, ten minutes in length, set up throughout the day. And he planned on being with Max at every one of them. But now, he had forty-five minutes to kill. He was too keyed up to read, and he wasn't ready to surrender to the unyielding waiting room furniture. He decided to head down to the cafeteria. He honestly couldn't remember if he'd eaten anything for dinner the night before.

He stepped onto the elevator and hit the button to take him back down to the lobby. Quietly, he studied the cover of his new book. This would be his third Zane Grey novel in just two months. The style of Grey's writing and the complex nature of his characters appealed to him. He knew it would take that kind of engrossing prose to get him through the afternoon between family visits. He reread the inside flap of the book so the storyline would be fresh in his mind later.

The elevator traveled downward and stopped. The doors opened to reveal a woman in a wheelchair. Without really looking at her, he quickly pressed the _Door Hold_ button twice to allow extra time for her entry. He glanced at the wheels on the chair and wondered why they weren't moving. Looking up at the woman, he tried to determine the delay. When he met her eyes, she appeared a little puzzled and slightly embarrassed. But it wasn't her expression that caught him. It was the color of her eyes. What color were they, exactly? They appeared to be almost amber. Or did he see shades of green there as well? When he realized he was staring, he threw his gaze back quickly to the row of buttons in front of him, now feeling embarrassed himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you going up or down?" She asked.

"I'm going down…to the cafeteria." He replied.

"Well, I'm on my way up to five, so I'll just wait and catch the next one. So sorry."

Her voice was soft and pleasant. And in a moment, she was gone. The doors closed and elevator continued its descent. For some reason, he noticed that his heart seemed to be beating a little faster than normal. Even though he'd seen her for less than thirty seconds, he felt a strange connection to the woman in the wheelchair. Had he met her somewhere before? There was something strangely familiar about her. He became unnerved when he couldn't place a face. He was unmatched in his ability to put a face with name and attributed a great deal of his business success to that very skill. _Think, Mr. H, think._ He tapped his hand nervously on his leg as he tried to recall where he'd seen the woman. His mind drifted back to a black tie event he'd attended the year before—a gala to raise money and awareness for adults with disabilities. While ruthless in the board room, he was putty in a fundraiser's hands. Philanthropy was more than just a means to distribute nontaxable income. It was his passion—especially when furthering medical research. Had the University of Chicago not welcomed him with open arms into the business school, he liked to think that he'd have _Dr_. in front of his name. Medicine fascinated him, and his mathematical mind loved the scientific aspect of healing. _That has to be where I've seen her._

The elevator doors opened once again and he stepped out. He turned left and headed to the cafeteria, still humming the song he'd heard on the way in. For years he'd suffered from Day-Long-Song Disease or DLS for short. He coined the term himself—when a song gets stuck in your head and you sing it all day. Standing in line, he realized that he was hungry. Mentally counting back, he found he hadn't eaten anything in over seventeen hours. He ordered a full country breakfast with juice and black coffee. Checking his mental scoreboard, he smiled. Coffee: 2, Scotch: 0. _Well, I'll have to even up that score later tonight._

He carried his tray to a small table by the window, next to the entrance. He preferred a window seat, even if it was one that only looked out at the main doors. Most people wouldn't care for a hospital lobby view. But he was a people watcher. He loved to observe the human species. And his instincts about people were usually dead on—another one of his keen abilities that heightened his success in the business world. He and Max sometimes played a little game they made up when they'd people watch together. They'd size up ordinary folks and decide who'd be their celebrity twin. He remembered how hard he'd laughed when Max once commented, _"Listen, if I see anything walk by that looks remotely like Ava Gardner, then I'm outta here."_ And for that comment alone, he named his car Ava. Max thought it was ridiculous to give a car a name. Maybe it was. Despite his wealth, he only owned one car. His precious Ava. She was the only woman who waited patiently for him to return to LA without complaint.

Smiling, he finished his last bite of his eggs. There were so many great Max stories. Hundreds of them over their many years together. Most of them beginning or ending in some smoky pool hall or back room 'round a poker table. To pick just one—his favorite—would be impossible. The night they met was a memory so fresh in his mind he could hardly believe it'd been over twenty-five years since. But his smile quickly faded, as he remembered that the closest thing he had to a father was lying upstairs with a tube sticking out of his head. He shoveled in the last of his toast and downed the juice. Checking his watch once more, he saw that visitation began in just eight minutes. With a brisk gait, he hurried back to the elevator.

He pressed the button for the sixth floor, but his eyes lingered for a moment on the number five button. Again, the woman in the wheelchair came back into his mind. Had they really met before? At the gala? As they doors closed, he sighed. _No, it's impossible. I'd never forget eyes like that._

 _XXXXXXXXXX_

He made it back to the sixth floor just in time to catch Dr. Walsh stopping briefly at the nurses' station. He walked over and extended his hand to the man responsible for keeping Max alive.

"Good Morning," He extended his hand to the doctor.

"Good Morning, Mr. Hart. I've just come from checking on Mr. Brennan."

"Please call me Jonathan. How's he looking today?"

"Well, there's been no change since you were here last night. But that's a good thing. As long as we are successfully controlling the intracranial pressure and monitoring his blood pressure and respiratory functioning, then he's doing okay."

"Well, I can't thank you enough for all that you are doing for him." He didn't really know what else to say. Words to express the many emotions he was feeling were locked somewhere deep inside him.

"You should get in there and get scrubbed. You don't want to miss one minute with Mr. Brennan. We'll talk later this afternoon." He slapped his silver patient chart closed and continued down the south corridor.

Dr. Walsh was a slight man, close to fifty. He had dark hair, dark eyes and an easy going nature. His southern accent made a person feel relaxed. If Max were to venture a guess at his celebrity twin, he'd probably say Sam Shepard. He was a man of few words, but Jonathan figured that was more than likely the case for most top surgeons. His research and advances in neurosurgery named him as the top physician in his field for the entire United States. Jonathan remembered reading an article on him about a year and a half back. Though some considered him a renegade with regard to new and risky procedures, he maintained the highest level of respect from all areas of medicine.

Without a moment to spare, he pressed the button on the double doors leading to ICU. The attendant on the other side looked up from his paperwork. Recognizing him immediately, he buzzed him through. Jonathan made his way to visitor station inside the unit. Once there, he pulled a gauzy white gown over his clothes along with matching protective shoe covers. He tied a surgical mask around his neck and proceeded to the sink. Thoroughly scrubbing his hands, it occurred to him that medical professionals must complete the task countless times a day. He quickly glanced at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His face did not lie. He was tired. The dark circles had moved in and it looked as though they were prepared to stay awhile. He practiced a smile. It was weak. Even though he knew Max would not see him, he was determined to walk around that curtain beside his bed with a positive face. Maybe not so much for Max's benefit, but his own.

Despite the mass of machinery surrounding him, Max appeared to be quite peaceful. A tangle of tubes ran from both of his arms. He was still on a respirator. Jonathan looked down at Max's hands, shaking his head with confusion. These hands did not belong to Max. These hands looked old, and the color wasn't right. Where were the ones that enjoyed a Cuban heater or a good hand of poker? The ones that could gesture wildly when telling a good story or pour methodically over a racing form? Maybe the harsh lights were playing tricks on his eyes. Or maybe he was finally seeing the reality of his nightmare. Carefully, he slipped his hand inside Max's and gave it a gentle squeeze. His body jumped involuntarily and Jonathan nervously glanced around. When he did not hear an alarm or see a fleet of nurses heading his way, he figured Max was okay. The machines were quietly humming, doing their all important job of keeping his best friend alive. He paused and studied Max's face. His brow was furrowed and tense, as though he were upset about something. _Well, once he wakes up and finds they've shaved his head, he will definitely be upset._

Ten minutes seemed like an eternity to Jonathan. He wasn't sure if he should just sit quietly and observe or if he should talk aloud. The ICU was quiet, with the exception of the occasional beep of a machine or a page over the intercom. Day three of this routine and he still didn't know how to act. A nurse poked his head around the curtain. His face was friendly, but not familiar.

"Good Morning." The young man offered.

"Good Morning," Jonathan answered.

"You two are very quiet back here. Are you planning a bank heist for later?"

Jonathan chuckled, "Nothing like that."

"I'm Julian. I'll be checking on Mr. Brennan throughout my shift. I'll be around until eleven. Just let me know if I can answer any questions you might have. I know Dr. Walsh is tough to reach." He made a notation inside a manila file folder bearing Max's name along the index tab.

Jonathan stood and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you. And thanks for your help."

"No problem." He studied the knobs and dials on the machinery beside Max's bed, making ever so slight adjustments. The technology intrigued Jonathan, and he wondered exactly how the machines were keeping his dear friend alive.

"Say listen, can I ask you a silly question?" Jonathan asked.

"Can he hear you, right?" The young man smiled slyly, but kept his focus on Max's chart.

Jonathan was surprised by his response. "Yeah, how'd you know?"

"We get asked that a lot." The young man smiled again. "No one knows for certain, but we feel that patient recovery rates improve when they are surrounded by their family members and can hear their voices regularly. I think Mr. Brennan could use some cheery morning conversation. Just stick to topics that he enjoys and try not to let your emotions get the best of you."

The male nurse retreated and Jonathan was alone again with Max. He slipped his cell phone out of his pocket to check his messages, noticing he hadn't silenced the ringer before entering the hospital. He still hadn't heard from Sarah and Michael and was starting to get worried. They rarely went more than forty-eight hours without a call to check-in on Max. _Maybe they've gone camping._ He set the phone on vibrate mode and returned it to his pocket, deciding to call home and retrieve his messages once the first visitation ended.

A young woman walked around the curtain and directly over to the IV bags that hung on metal hooks above Max's bed. Checking each one, along with the various machines, she made notations on her clipboard. She paused briefly and smiled at Jonathan.

"Time's up for now, Sir. You can come back at eleven-thirty if you like." The nurse spoke in a soft and caring manner. Jonathan stood and surveyed Max fully as he backed away from his bed. His gaze stopped at the tube coming from Max's head and that's when he remembered Dr. Walsh's words. The machines were doing their job, draining the excess blood and fluid surrounding his brain as the result of his aneurysm. Jonathan brushed away a tear as he turned to leave him. By the time he'd made it around the corner, he could not stop the flow of emotion and the tears poured out.

He was relieved to find the visitor station once again empty. The storage bin containing used gauzy garments was overflowing. He removed his gown, shoe covers, and mask and dropped them in the bin with the others. He sat down on the wooden bench in the middle of the room. With his head in his hands, he cried the tears that had been trapped inside him for three long days. He knew this would come eventually—the necessary stages of emotional release that all must encounter to come out successfully on the other side of tragedy. _But how could there be a successful side to something like this? No one wins at something like this._ Max was still alive, but still very critical. He wasn't breathing on his own, yet the doctors seemed somewhat optimistic. Max was a fighter, and to lay odds against him would be a poor bet. But Jonathan couldn't stop the feeling that he may lose Max forever. And that thought scared him to death. He had no other family. For six months out of the year, it was just the two of them. Max was his family. Thinking back to his hands, he was suddenly aware of just how much Max had aged. The trouble with his diabetes and blood pressure were taking a toll on his body. He'd never thought of Max as a frail man. But lying in that bed, he couldn't think of another word to describe him. Jonathan still felt as he did the day he met Max. He was just a kid then. And though he now lived and operated in a man's world, a very big part of him was still that young kid hanging out with Max. He stood and walked to the sink. Splashing cold water on his face he looked at himself in the mirror one last time. _Not too good, Mr. H. Not too good._ He could hear Max's words inside his head. And in classic Max fashion, they revealed only truth. He grabbed his things from the locker where'd he'd stashed them earlier and headed back to the waiting area.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan drifted between the waiting room and Max's bed for the entire day. With each visit to him, he did his best to remain upbeat. Taking the nurse's advice, he relived some of their glory days and close calls over the years through the stories he told at his bedside. He even decided to read some of his book aloud to him. Though he wasn't much of a reader, Max loved a good story. Jonathan laughed a lot that afternoon, filled with the joy those old stories brought to him. He continued to hold Max's hand at each visit, reassuring him that he was there. When the five-thirty visitation period ended, Jonathan promised Max that he'd be back after dinner with the sports page from The Times. Max hated to be behind on his scores.

He'd remained on the sixth floor for the better part of the day—leaving only momentarily at lunchtime to run down to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich. It was getting close to dinner time now. But Jonathan found that he really wasn't hungry. He knew he should eat something, but food just didn't appeal to him. He had three hours to kill until he'd be allowed back in with Max. He decided to stretch his legs and go outside for some fresh air.

Though the day was winding down, the hospital was just as busy as it had been when he arrived early that morning. He guessed that family and friends would be on their way in after work to visit loved ones. _Hospitals never stop_ , he considered _. No holidays. No breaks. The business of sickness and death plays twenty four hours a day, every day._ The park across from the hospital was equally as busy, filling up with people eager to wind down. Benches and small seating areas littered the green space. The sun was still shining, and would be for a couple more hours. He decided to take a seat and do some unwinding of his own. Finding a vacant wooden bench, he settled himself and opened his book. He read for a few minutes, but the natural impulse to people watch was just too much. He closed the book and placed it on the bench beside him, surveying the foot traffic around him. Men, women, and children moved in and out of his view, enjoying the unseasonably cool springtime temperatures. A striking female with long dark hair caught his eye as she playfully tossed a green Frisbee in the direction of a black Lab. He focused his attention on her, trying to establish a match between the woman and her supposed celebrity twin. But his mind was a blank…and had been for several days.

Reaching into his pocket, he decided to call home and check his messages. The machine picked up on the second ring, and Jonathan quickly entered his three digit retrieval code. The first message was from his secretary. _Everything's fine and she got the figures faxed. Good!_ Second message. _Wrong number. Who the heck is Tony? Well, he's lucky, 'cause her voice sounded sexy._ Jonathan smirked and listened to the next message. It was Max's niece, Sarah. She and her husband would be arriving late Wednesday afternoon. _Finally!_ He made a mental note to have Deanne arrange transportation from the airport and to set them up in the corporate apartment. The last message was from Angela.

 _"Hey. It's me. Listen, I know you are completely overwhelmed by your situation with Max right now. But if you have the time and energy to give me a quick call and, you know, let me know how he's doing, I'd really appreciate it. I called the ICU waiting room, but someone said you were in with him. I won't bug you, but I just want to know that you are okay and if I can do anything to help. Okay? Bye."_

Jonathan noticed that her voice was unsure and hesitant. And furthermore, he noticed that he didn't care. The gentleman inside commanded him to do the right thing and call her back. They'd been seeing each other for almost a year, though in his mind it was nothing serious. Sexual, yes…but definitely not serious. They had fun together and Jonathan liked her. But that's where it ended. She wasn't family. And he just didn't feel right letting someone in—not on something so important. He knew the road ahead would be long. Max's recovery might take weeks, even months. Angela was nice, but not someone that he wished to take along on the journey. He closed his cell phone and his eyes and tried to erase the message from his mind.

Would anyone take the journey with him? Or was he destined to fly solo? He'd come close only once—allowing someone inside his life. But his now guarded nature kept most standing at the door way of his heart, waiting to be invited in. Waiting for an invitation that mostly likely wouldn't come. Again he observed the woman with the dog and it was then he realized her twin. From a distance, she looked a lot like Nik. He'd thought about calling her. She'd be heartbroken to learn of Max's condition. But too many years had fallen away. Too many painful memories of their last days together. Closing his eyes once more he tried to relax, thinking only good thoughts. He dozed off for a few minutes then woke to the sound of woman's voice.

"Jack Hare."

He opened his eyes and was surprised to see the striking woman from the elevator. The woman in the wheelchair.

"I'm s-sorry." Jonathan stammered.

She pointed at the book on the bench. "Jack Hare. He's one of my favorite literary characters."

A man known for his sharp wit and quick thinking, Jonathan Hart was at a complete loss as he again found himself searching her eyes for answers.

"Are you a fan of Zane Grey?" He finally offered after a moment.

"Not so much," She replied. "I just always wanted to be a cowboy when I was a girl."

"Well, that lifestyle does carry a certain romantic air." Jonathan immediately wished he could swallow the words that just left his mouth. _Romantic air? What the hell?_

"Yes, I guess you're right. The cowboy life is fascinating."

Jonathan could not think of one intelligent thing to say to her. He was so captivated by her eyes. He still could not gauge their exact color. But he had no problem identifying the color of her hair. It was the most beautiful shade of auburn he'd ever seen. What would Max think? Maureen O'Hara? No, she was more beautiful. This woman bore no resemblance to any other in the world—celebrity or otherwise.

Realizing the pregnant pause between them, he quickly offered his bandaged hand. "I'm Jonathan Hart."

"Jennifer. Jennifer Edwards." She took his hand in hers, shaking it with a smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _With hands thrust deep into his pockets, he continued to pace along the white marble floor. Just outside the vast wall of windows, the sun drifted peacefully below the horizon, creating a shimmering blanket across the waves of the Mediterranean Sea. His afternoon had been spent watching stories unfold along the beach. The persistent fishermen bringing in their daily catch in tired nets. The underprivileged children of Kalamata eager to play messenger for pocket change. The uninhibited lovers leaving a silent trail of footprints in the sand. So much life traveling up and down the shore of the Messinia Gulf while Death waited in the master suite like an unwelcome stranger._

 _The view. The house. His home away from home. So many special times. He remembered early mornings on the terrace, watching a large orange ball make its way to the sky. Quiet afternoons spent exploring Venetian castles and ancient churches. Evenings at the chess board and endless toasts of Ouzo. He'd taken him in as one of his own from the start. He was family. Family was everything. And as the minutes on the clock continued to tick, he knew the family would need him. She would need him. He poured himself another drink before returning to the view. Thoughts of guilt and regret filled his mind. He'd spent the last few months living a lie. And it had chipped steadily away at his self-respect until he was left with a large, gaping hole in his heart. As much as he cared for him—loved him like a father—would he be able to live with the fact that his last words to the man would be a lie? Even when protecting the father from the sins of the daughter? He downed his drink quickly, watching the last boat of the day, battling unexpected waves as the current picked up. The beach was now deserted and he felt much the same. He didn't hear her footsteps behind him, and jumped when she lightly touched his shoulder. He turned to face her, trying to stay strong. Her tears were contained for the moment but only just. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close._

 _"Are you okay?" He whispered._

 _"I wish I knew."_

 _"I'm here for you. You know that, right?" He looked into her eyes._

 _"I know. You've always been here for me." She tried to smile. "He's asking for you. For us, I mean."_

 _Jonathan took a deep breath. "We can do this, Nik. Okay? Together?" He gave a reassuring nod._

 _"I'll try."_

 _He tenderly kissed her cheek and they exchanged another embrace. Hand in hand they walked down the corridor to her father's bedroom. For the last time._

 _They stepped inside that place that hadn't seen the warm Mediterranean sun for over a week. The outside world had been shut out of his suite, with only the faces of his beloved children to light his last days. His body was failing him, and it would be just a matter of time now. Jonathan gripped her hand tightly as they approached his bed._

 _"Come…" He motioned with a crooked finger. Even in his final moments, he still retained his commanding presence. Sebastian Stephanos was a large man and larger than life. He'd lived out the majority of his seventy-plus years in the modern, powerful world of international business. And even though he'd surrounded himself and his children with the best the world had to offer, he never forgot his modest beginnings. Always gracious. Never arrogant. He was still, without hesitation or apology, a simple working man from a seaside village._

 _"Don't talk, Pappa…" Nikki urged, sitting down on the edge of his bed._

 _"My voice is all I have left. We come into this world with the sounds from our lips making our presence known. It's only right we should leave the same way."_

 _"Is there anything we can get you?" Jonathan asked._

 _"No. There is nothing I need but to look at the two of you." He sighed heavily, then reached for his daughter's hand. "I have said goodbye to all my sons. Except one." He turned his eyes up to meet Jonathan's._

 _"Sir," Jonathan started, but the old man waved him off._

 _"I have had incredible opportunities in my life and built a fortune on this island and still, it cannot compare to my greatest treasure." He looked back at his daughter with a smile. "My family is my greatest accomplishment, Jonathan. Not my business. Not my luxuries." He cleared his throat with a labored cough._

 _"Pappa, please…"_

 _"I want you both to know how happy I am at this moment. Knowing that as I pass into the next life, you'll be bringing a new life into this one. Watching the two of you together—so much love between the two of you. And now, you will begin the_ _journey of what will be your greatest accomplishment. Children are the reason we are here on this earth. God brings a man and woman together to share something beautiful and from that love, the perfect flower grows. A baby is a blessing no matter when it arrives."_

 _Nikki's eyes filled with tears and she was powerless to hold them in. Jonathan could see her body shaking. Sitting down beside her, he slipped his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder._

 _"You have brought me so much happiness. Seeing my Nikki so happy. And now, knowing you will be beside her as the two of you bring your child—my grandchild—into this world." He paused and held his daughter's gaze for a moment. "I can leave without fear."_

 _Her tears fell swiftly and Jonathan could not control his own emotions. He reached for her father's hand, gripping it firmly in his own. A quiet moment filled the room, as the three sat together in noiseless reflection._

 _"Jonathan, I know you will take care of my greatest treasure. She's is so much like her mother was at her age." The old man gave another heavy sigh. "I have loved only two women in my life. I'm going to be with the first one now. And I leave the second one to you."_

The entire scene played out in his mind in a matter of seconds. He could still see and hear everything, just as it had happened several years before. It had been a long time since he'd thought of that day and he silent cursed the dark haired woman in the park for screwing with his subconscious. Slowly he opened his eyes, forgetting he was in Max's bedroom. He'd come in the night before to get the latest edition of Bloodhorse Weekly to take up to the hospital. While Grey had won praise for his literary works, Jonathan thought Max would appreciate it more if he read the racing publication instead of a novel.

He was still fully dressed; shoes still neatly laced on his feet. He looked for his watch, but it was not his wrist or the nightstand. He noticed the empty highball glass next to the bed. He didn't even remember pouring himself a drink. He was so exhausted by the time he made it in from the hospital. _Well, at least Scotch finally made it on the board_. Guessing from the light of the sky, he figured it was probably close to seven. Glancing at Max's alarm clock, he confirmed his suspicions. Yawning, he rose and walked slowly down the hall to the kitchen. _Time for coffee to score another point._

He checked the machine in the hall but found no messages. He felt his pocket for his cell phone, but it wasn't there. _Probably somewhere with my watch,_ he guessed. He flipped on the kitchen light and began his new morning ritual. Today he'd be more efficient, since he didn't have to play hide-n-seek with the coffee. Searching the cabinet, he selected Max's favorite mug. It was one he'd brought back from Vegas. The images on the cup were a montage of things that Max loved: cards, dice, a roulette wheel, and beautiful women. Jonathan grinned. He felt better than he had in several days. Sleeping soundly for several hours had been like a healing tonic for his body.

He carried his coffee up to the cupola and surveyed the city around him. Another sunny day in Los Angeles. He could feel the city waking up as the sun continued its upward journey. The sky around him glowed; the sunrise was beautiful. The streaks of color across the sky were amazing—like a watercolor painting where warm hues blend together seamlessly. Unaware of it, Jonathan was smiling again as he silently sipped his coffee.

The colors of the sky melted away and were replaced with another image in his mind: the woman at the park. Ms. Edwards. Their literary conversation had been cut short when his cell phone buzzed inside his pocket. Dr. Walsh needed to see him and Jonathan would not make him wait. He hoped she didn't mistake his abrupt departure for rudeness. But there was nothing he could about it now. The UCLA Med Center was a vast city in itself. The odds of seeing her again were slim. He had no idea why she was even at the hospital or if she'd be back. It didn't matter anyway. He knew he needed to stay focused on the enormous challenge of bringing Max back. Yet, there was one tiny thing that continued to gnaw at the back of his mind: her eyes. There was something comforting about them. He was still confused as to their true color. Thinking back on their exchange, he analyzed the little information he'd learned about her. He could tell from their brief conversation that she was intelligent. Not to brag, but Zane Grey didn't pen sophomoric fiction. His words were a little more advanced—certainly not your casual beach read. Obviously, he concluded, she was well read. She had a good sense of humor. He remembered the cute comment she'd made about wishing to be a cowboy. And it wasn't just the humor in the comment. It was the way she said it. Her voice was so genuine. For a totally random encounter, it felt strangely familiar and completely relaxed. Natural. Not at all forced. Maybe that feeling is what caused him to make the stupid comment about the romantic notion of the cowboy lifestyle. _God, what an idiot! Well, she probably thought it was just a cheesy come-on anyway._

The phone inside the apartment rang, pulling Jonathan back to reality. He stepped back away from the window and hustled downstairs to catch the call. He was still smiling.

"Jonathan Hart." He answered on the third ring.

"It's done, Mr. H. Game, set and match."

"Well it's about time."

"What's the record for holding one's breath?" The man on the other end of the line asked.

"Fifteen minutes maybe?"

"And we've held ours for months."

"Congratulations, Bill. You've worked your ass off on this deal."

"That's why you pay me a disgusting amount of money. How's Max?"

"No change."

"He'll pull through, Mr. H. He's a tough old codger."

"If anyone can, Max can." Jonathan agreed.

"Now listen, I know you're under a lot of pressure, but the key players are throwing a small soiree in honor of this little transaction. Think you can pull yourself away from the hospital for a few hours?"

"I really don't want to leave Los Angeles. Not even for a few hours."

"You don't have to. They want to have it there—in Los Angeles."

"When?" Jonathan crossed the room, pulling a day planner from his briefcase.

"I don't know. They're still working out the details. I'll let you know."

"The sooner the better, okay? Max's niece and her husband are flying in and I want this whole deal behind me."

XXXXXXXXXX

He spent the next several days going back and forth from home to hospital. Max's niece and her husband arrived without incident. They set up a visitation schedule that would work for all of them. This allowed Jonathan time to focus on pressing business matters, and gave Sarah and Michael some alone time with him. Being Max's only living relative, Jonathan wanted her to have as much one-on-one with her uncle as she desired. He decided to take the first morning visitation, but then would not return until the final two in the evening. The schedule made sense and everyone rested better because of it. It was a likely solution, as Max split his time equally between Sarah's Seattle home and Jonathan's apartment and had for several years. Summers with Sarah and winters with Mr. H. To see Max with both of them, no one would every guess that Sarah and Jonathan weren't his natural children. And they loved him like a father.

Jonathan couldn't believe that twelve days had passed since Max entered the hospital. He was on his way in to meet with Dr. Walsh. The neuro-trauma unit scheduled regular family meetings with attending physicians. A question-and-answer session of sorts. Dr. Walsh excelled in explaining Max's care in simplistic terms. Since there had been no change, Jonathan assumed that Dr. Walsh would more than likely be giving him a pep talk—keeping the spirits high and all. He'd given him a series of articles to read. Several discussed how to care for patients with severe head trauma. One article explained the important role of caregivers and how not to neglect their own health. He preached the importance of the team approach. The Holy Trinity of Medicine, he called it: doctor, patient, and caregiver. And Jonathan would do whatever was required of him. He trusted Dr. Walsh completely.

He reached down for the stereo dial in his car. The bandage on his right hand had now been replaced with a regular Band-Aid. He flipped through the channels, but didn't connect with a song he liked. He turned off the stereo and hummed to himself. He had contacted a skilled nursing center in the hopes of scheduling interviews. He planned on having a nurse at home with Max at all times once he woke up. It was the first and only proactive step he'd taken with regard to the future. He promised himself that he would do all in his power to see that Max had the best care, round the clock if necessary. He knew that Max would be proud of his attitude and could hear his voice in the back of his mind…

 _"Never give up, Mr. H. Look at that little filly from the third. She was a long shot. And she pulled it out. She pulled it out big!"_

 _XXXXXXXXXX_

With traffic behind him and Ava parked safely on Level Three of the parking garage, Jonathan walked quickly down the corridor toward Dr. Walsh's office. He was already a minute late for their meeting. And he hated to be anything less than perfectly punctual. He rounded the corner, stopping sharply when he saw Dr. Walsh laughing and talking with an attractive woman just outside his office door. Respecting their privacy, Jonathan turned and slipped back, out of sight. He slowly counted to sixty before quietly poking his head around the corner. The coast was clear. Dr. Walsh and the woman were gone. Jonathan continued toward his office. He knocked twice and waited for the invitation.

"Come on in." The doctor called.

Jonathan entered and closed the door. Dr. Walsh stood up from his desk and offered his hand to him.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Hart. Please have a seat." He motioned to a chair in front of the desk. "Can I get you anything? Would you like something to drink? Coffee, maybe?"

"No. I'm fine. And please, call me Jonathan." He insisted once more.

He settled into the chair in front of the desk. He found it to be very comfortable, much more so than the ones in the ICU waiting area.

"You know, you should consider getting some of these for your waiting room. I might even be able to take a nap in something this comfortable." Jonathan smiled.

"Well now, that's a thought. But the way the hospital sees it, if we make visitors too comfortable they might never leave. And we want all family and friends to be well rested. In a bed. _Elsewhere._ " Dr. Walsh laughed.

"Yes, you do have a point there." Jonathan considered his reply.

"I spoke with Mr. Brennan' niece earlier this afternoon, so she won't be joining us."

"Yes, Sarah called to let me know."

"Alright. Let's talk. Any questions or concerns about Mr. Brennan' care thus far?" Dr. Walsh's relaxed tone suddenly turned very professional and business-like.

"Actually, I do have one question. And it has nothing to do with Max. I noticed on my way up here that you were speaking with a woman just outside your door. I was late, but I didn't want to interrupt you. So I just waited until you two were finished. Was that Ms. Edwards by chance?"

"Yes it was. Do you know Ms. Edwards?"

"We've met on a couple of occasions. Is she a patient of yours?"

Jonathan could not believe how nosy he was being. But he hadn't seen her since that afternoon in the park. _That was what? At least eight or nine days ago?_ He figured he'd never see her again.

"Yes, she is." Dr. Walsh answered.

"But I thought you were a neuro-vascular surgeon," Jonathan was confused.

"Neurosurgery encompasses several divisions, Mr. Hart. We aren't strictly about brain trauma. We deal with spinal cord injuries as well, as in Ms. Edwards's case."

"Oh yes, of course." Jonathan could tell by Dr. Walsh's tone that his line of questioning was bordering on inappropriate. He felt that the doctor had probably overstepped his professional boundaries by sharing what little information he did about Ms. Edwards. Time to change the subject.

"I finished the articles. Thanks. They were very informative." said Jonathan.

"Mr. Brennan's condition is stable, but still critical based on the nature of his trauma. We're coming up on the two week mark. That's why I needed to meet with you today. I've found that family members are better equipped to handle long-term information by this point. Hopefully by now you've had a chance to rest and process most of what has occurred."

"Yes I think so. With Max's niece here, it's allowed me to resume more normal hours, and I am sleeping better." Jonathan answered.

"Great. Now this is where I have to go into my hardcore song-and-dance, so bear with me. Mr. Brennan could remain in his current state for an indefinite amount of time, or he could wake up in five minutes. We're monitoring his cranial pressure and everything's fine at this point. That doesn't mean there may not be complications later. This truly is a day to day operation." He paused and took a sip of his coffee. "You told me that you and Mr. Brennan share of love of racehorses, is that right?"

Jonathan nodded, his full attention focused on Dr. Walsh.

"Well, to put it into terms that both you and he would appreciate, this is a long race. How long is long? No one knows. Mr. Brennan isn't the youngest horse in the gate either. You are a very well-respected and busy man. You are single. You have no children. Hear me now when I tell you this: You will not be able to care for Mr. Brennan by yourself. I realize that he has a unique set up in terms of residence, but going back to Seattle is something that I won't sign off on for a while. Now I'm guessing that you will arrange for nursing or family and friends, but if and when you're able to take Mr. Brennan home with you, you'll need to have a support system for yourself. And I'm not talking about having folks around to help you physically care for him. I mean you must surround yourself with people that you can connect with. Living with a person who's suffered a head trauma is unpredictable and draining. Even if you never lift so much as a finger to bring him a glass of water, you will feel the drain. I've worked in this wing for sixteen years and I can't tell you how many times I've seen the critical patients recover fully, only to find the caregiver has completely deteriorated physically and mentally. Here's the nutshell: you can't stop living your life to care for someone else. And check your guilt at the door. It won't help you in any way. You do the best you can, and that's all anyone can ask."

Dr. Walsh spoke so fluidly, yet it didn't sound rehearsed. Jonathan sat still and let the words sink in.

"Of course. I understand." He answered in acknowledgment.

"We have an excellent support group here for families like yours. Here's a brochure. I am sure you have lots of friends. But sometimes, you just might need to be with others who are in the same boat."

Jonathan sensed this was the end of his speech. He stood and took the brochure and slipped it inside his pocket. Dr. Walsh walked around from behind his desk and motioned toward the door.

"Please call me if you have any questions." Dr. Walsh extended his hand again. Jonathan shook it firmly and thanked him once more.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer waited impatiently for the MedTram. She had fifteen minutes to get to the main building of the hospital. The distance from the hotel wasn't far. She could wheel herself there, but that would take time. It would be cutting it too close to her appointment. And she wasn't very confident in her ability to maneuver the chair being a relatively new driver. With no sign of the courtesy van in sight, she decided to see how far her arms would take her.

Wheeling the chair through the park proved to be no problem. But her arms were tired by the time she'd reached the main entrance _._ There was no sense in trying to hurry. She would be late. Fortunately she was not meeting with Dr. Walsh. Just two of the assistants on his research team. This would be her last meeting with them before returning home. She reached into her bag and grabbed her water bottle, needing a moment to catch her breath and rest her arms. Carefully she scanned her surroundings in search of something interesting to focus on. She'd always had a keen, observant eye—even as a young girl. And she loved to indulge her guilty pleasure of people watching. As a writer, she had the insatiable need to study people. Who are they? Where do they come from? Where are they going? She tried to imagine what their stories were. Did they lead happy lives? Were they fulfilled? Depressed? Lonely? Over the years, she'd honed her skills of observation to such a degree that her closest friends joked with her about her psychic ability to read people. Her friend Patsy would often tease, " _Careful trying to hide something from Jennifer. She can use those eyes of hers to look right inside your soul."_

Checking her watch, it was official. She was late. Replacing the cap on the bottle, she continued on to the front entrance. _No sense in being later than necessary_. She pressed the button to carry her up to the fifth floor. The doors opened and she wheeled her way down the corridor to one of the PT rooms. According to the large clock on the wall, she was seven minutes late.

"Good Morning! I am so sorry to keep you waiting,"

"Jennifer! We were getting worried about you. It's not like you to be tardy." said Dr. Prescott.

"Yes, you'll have to stay after class and write lines on the chalkboard for us now." Dr. Zimmer added.

"Well, couldn't you make an exception? Just this once? I promise to be a good girl and do everything you ask." She smiled warmly.

Jennifer's tests lasted almost an hour. She was exhausted by the time they were through. This was by far the most grueling round of physical testing. She actually looked forward to getting back in the wheelchair though she realized that much of her weakened state could be attributed to the chair itself. Her muscles were not accustomed to being out of use. And the chair had been doing all the work for her the past few weeks. She was hot, sweaty and hungry. Lunch and a shower, then possibly a nap. She was free for the rest of the day. She would not meet with Dr. Walsh again until tomorrow. Zimmer and Prescott would take the information from the testing and write up the report and she and Dr. Walsh would discuss the results in the morning.

Back in the lobby, she turned to head down to the cafeteria. She'd been a regular in there and had committed the entire menu to memory. She was on a first name basis with practically all the employees. Good or not, she was ready for a change. There was a pizza place not far from the hospital—perhaps they'd deliver one to her room. It was worth a try. And if they wouldn't deliver, she'd make her way through the phone book until she found a restaurant that did. Quickly spinning her chair around, she ran right into him—the man from the park.

"Do you have a license to drive that thing in here?" He asked, feigning a serious tone.

"Oh I'm so sorry. New driver. My apologies, Mr. Hart, right?"

"Yes, but it's Jonathan. And I'm totally kidding you." He flashed a bright smile.

"I hope I didn't hurt you." She said; her voice and eyes showing genuine concern.

"Not at all. Are you on your way to the cafeteria?" He asked.

"Well, I was, but…"

"Let me guess. You changed your mind because you decided you're not that hungry. That or maybe you were just trying to score points by running over innocent people." He smiled again.

"Well, you're partially right. I changed my mind because I've dined here no less than fifty times over the past couple of weeks. The hunger part is still there, but it's in need of a change." She replied.

Jonathan was so surprised by how effortless the playful conversation came to him with her. Should he dare?

"Listen, I'm starved, but frankly I could use a change of scenery as well. Would you like to join me for a bite somewhere off campus?

Normally, Jennifer would never accept an invitation from a complete stranger. Okay, maybe he wasn't a complete stranger. _Does a thirty second conversation at an elevator and another one lasting less than five minutes make him an acquaintance?_ She was so drawn to his smile. It was the type of smile that when you saw it, it instantly triggered one on your own lips. And his eyes. They were the most magical shade of blue she'd ever seen. There was honesty and sincerity behind them, mixed with just a hint of mischievousness.

"I'd love to. What sounds good to you?" She replied after a long pause. She continued to study his eyes, hopeful that she wouldn't regret her decision later.

Did Jonathan note hesitation following her acceptance? He wasn't sure exactly. Suddenly her posture and gaze were questioning.

"Anything's fine by me. Why don't you think about what you're hungry for and I'll go get Ava and meet you at the entrance. Does that sound alright?" Jonathan asked.

"Fine. I'll meet you outside."

Jonathan found his stride to be a little more rapid than usual. He made his way to the parking garage quickly, unaware that he'd whistled the whole way there. He opened the door to the stairwell and took the stairs two at a time. He found Ava safe and sound on Level Three. Prior to backing out, he checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. A small trace of the dark circles still remained under each eye. He readjusted the mirror and put the car in reverse.

Jennifer wheeled herself through the electric double doors at the main entrance of the hospital and out to the ramp by the curb. She had a mirror inside her bag, but was afraid to look. After the physical workout she'd just completed, she knew she wouldn't like what she'd find in the reflection. Pausing for a moment, she felt puzzled as she recalled his last words to her: _I'll go get Ava._

"Who the hell is Ava?" She wondered.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan eased the bright yellow car up to the wheelchair access ramp near the main doors. He quickly made it out and around to the passenger side door. Stopping short, he realized a dilemma. He didn't know how to get Ms. Edwards into his car properly and Jennifer noticed his hesitation.

"Listen, if you wouldn't mind just opening the door, then I can roll up close to the seat and transfer myself over. It's no problem."

Jonathan opened the door and stepped back. Jennifer maneuvered her chair beside the passenger seat. Grabbing the handle above the inside of the door, she lifted herself up. But her arms were still weak, and her hand slipped.

"Here, let me help me." Jonathan offered.

"Really, I think I can get it. Just give me a minute. I do better when I don't rush."

She reached for the handle once more and lifted herself out of the wheelchair and into the car. She turned and smiled at Jonathan.

"Okay, I'm in."

"What should I do about your hot-rod here?" He asked, patting the seatback of the wheelchair. "I assume it folds up?"

"Yes it does. Just press the release bar in the back. You can put it in the trunk."

Carefully he pushed the chair around to the back of the car. He did as she'd instructed and the chair collapsed neatly. He popped the trunk and found he was faced with yet another dilemma. Would it fit? After a minute of wrangling, he was finally able to settle the chair and close the trunk lid. He returned to the driver's door and slid behind the wheel.

"Is everything alright?" She asked.

"Yes, fine." He answered.

"Let me guess. Hot little Italian sports cars—long on style but short on trunk space?"

"Something like that. Now Ms. Edwards, where to?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I'm just a visitor in this town. So I don't know much about the eateries around here."

"Really? I didn't—where are you from?"

"Maryland originally, but I live in DC."

"I see. Well, how do you feel about Italian? Food, I mean. Not sports cars."

Jennifer remembered her pizza craving from a few minutes earlier. "That sounds great." She glanced around, checking the tiny backseat.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"Well no. You mentioned something about someone named Ava joining us."

"Oh, yes. She's here."

"She is?"

"Yes. You don't see her?" Jonathan could not resist the opportunity to play around with her just a little bit.

Jennifer stared at him, not quite knowing what to think. "Maybe if you could just point in her general direction…" She forced a weak smile.

"You're sitting in her." Jonathan patted the dashboard with his hand.

"Ava is your car?" She asked.

"Yep." He smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

The verbal exchange en route to the restaurant was light and pleasant. They rounded up the usual suspects of casual conversation: movies, music, sports. There was never a lull and Jonathan was amazed at how easy she was to talk to. He made her laugh several times. She had an infectious laugh. He hoped he wouldn't run out of things to say before they reached their destination.

"So what exactly do you do, Mr. Hart, which allows you to cruise along the streets of Los Angeles in such an expensive automobile?" She asked.

"I'm a janitor."

"Right." She nodded.

"No seriously. I'm a clean-up man."

"And just what exactly do you clean up?"

"Companies."

"I didn't realize they were that dirty."

"Not dirty. Just mismanaged. I started a private equity firm here in Los Angeles which has since snowballed into a hundred different industries."

"Private equity? What is that?"

"I find struggling companies, pump some cash into them, then turn around and sell them for profit."

"Sounds very private. And very equitable." She smiled.

"It pays the bills." He gave her a wink. Flipping up the turn indicator, he pulled into a convenience store on the corner.

"Do you need to fill-up?" Jennifer assumed he was stopping for gas.

"Nope. Full tank." He drove past the gas pumps and up to the doors. Jonathan opened his door and started to get out of the car.

"I'll just wait here." She had no idea what he was doing.

He turned back to her and flashed another smile. "Well, if you wait here, you're going to be very hungry later. This is the place."

"This is a gas station." Jennifer stated, confused.

"Yes it is." The smile never left his lips.

"We're driving around one of the largest, most diverse cities in the world, in a Porsche no less and we're eating at a gas station?"

"Trust me. It's the La Scala of gas stations."

Once inside, Jonathan motioned for Jennifer to follow him. They made their way to the back of the store, stopping at a door marked Employees Only. Jonathan held the door open for her. If he was trying to peak her curiosity, he had more than succeeded. She wheeled herself through the doorway and was surprised to find a small, neat kitchen on the other side. A graying man and a teen-aged boy stood working behind a stainless counter. The walls were sparse, with the exception of a faded travel poster of Italy. In the corner she saw a table with two chairs, complete with a red and white checked table cloth. For a moment, she felt she'd literally stepped inside Lady and the Tramp. She laughed out loud.

"Well aren't you just full of surprises?" Her eyes sparkled and Jonathan guessed she was pleased.

"This way…" He guided her to the table, removing one of the chairs. "Is this alright?" He asked, pushing her wheelchair into place.

"It's fascinating. A tiny slice of Italy, hiding right here in Los Angeles—in a convenience store. How'd you find this place?"

"They're strictly a pizza delivery joint. But Nino is willing to make exceptions for a select few in terms of fine, eat-in dining."

"Nino?" Jennifer asked quizzically.

Jonathan motioned to the kitchen. "The old man. Speaks no English, but makes a mean pie. That's his grandson, Nico. He translates."

Jennifer looked around at the grey haired gentleman. She spoke to him in fluent Italian; her accent was perfect. Nino laughed and waved his hand toward her in agreement. Jonathan was dumbfounded.

"You speak Italian?"

"Yes. But it's not my strong suit. French is more natural for me. My mother was French, so I guess I was just born to it."

He was surprised, or was he? "Shall we order?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes. And I'll let you do the honors."

Jonathan went to the counter and spoke briefly with Nico. He returned with two glasses and a bottle of merlot. He set the glasses down, along with a corkscrew and his credit card receipt. He suddenly felt uncomfortable.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't even ask you. Is wine okay? I realize it's not five o'clock, but when in Rome…"

"Yes, that would be lovely. It's five o'clock somewhere." She held up her glass and winked.

They spent the entire afternoon at the small table, sharing the bottle of wine and the stories of their lives. Jonathan told her of his past: growing up without his parents; being raised by a now deceased uncle; his friendship with Max; starting and building his company, and the reasons for being at the hospital. The words just poured out of him—the most consecutive words he uttered in over a week. He felt as though she could see right into him; her eyes giving him the courage to continue. In the course of a few hours, he'd become someone else. He found that he didn't want to stop. He wanted to tell her everything…

Jennifer listened intently as Jonathan spoke. His voice was smooth. It was cool, yet at the same time, warm. Like a fine Scotch being poured over ice; cool to the touch, but warm once inside you. She observed his posture. He was a confident man. He held his carriage tall. His dark hair was combed to one side and touched his collar in the back. He had masculine hands. Strong hands. But there was a gentleness about them as well. She again studied his eyes. They were bright and engaging, but she also detected sadness. Listening to the story of his dear friend Max, she knew why.

Suddenly aware that he'd dominated the entire conversation, he apologized.

"So, let's hear your story, Ms. Edwards."

Jennifer shared with him the details of her life: growing up on a horse farm in Maryland with her father; the death of her mother; her career as a journalist-turned-novelist. As a rule, she was guarded with the particulars of her life. She'd collected her own set of painful memories over the years. The list of people that she permitted in was short—she trusted few. But the man across the table from her made her feel surprisingly at ease. It was as though she'd known him for years. And though she didn't share every detail, she revealed more of herself than she normally allowed. Jonathan hung on her every word, totally captivated. He was impressed that she was willing to share so much of her life with him. Yet there was one thing she hadn't offered. Something he just had to know.

"May I ask you a personal question?" His tone was serious.

"Of course." She smiled and sipped her wine. She knew what was coming.

"How did you come to be in the chair? You mentioned at the hospital that you were a new driver, so I assume this is something new in your life."

"I got hurt on the job." She said.

"You got beat up by a laptop or something?"

"No, but there have been days I felt like that though. No, actually, I was doing a piece on women in the world of polo. I was at a tournament—you know, getting interviews, research, and whatnot. Anyway, after the tournament one of the ladies asked if I still played. I had been a player myself for several years but quit because of my job. I just work and travel too much to play. I was itching to get back on a polo pony. Well, it didn't take much convincing, and I was up on a horse, cruising around the polo field. I was being silly—literally horsing around. Something spooked the horse and I was thrown into the metal railing around the field. I hit my back pretty hard, but I walked away. Not long after my fall, I started to loose some feeling in my feet. Sometimes in my hands too. It was sporadic, so I didn't think much of it. I figured it for a pinched nerve or stress or something. But it became more and more frequent. A couple of months ago, I stopped being able to feel my feet and legs altogether. It was like they'd fallen asleep, but they wouldn't wake up. My father, who still thinks I'm six by the way, dragged me all over the east coast to different doctors. We discovered that my condition was not caused by my fall. I have a primary thoracic spinal tumor."

Jonathan felt his body stiffen. _My God! I've been so caught up in divulging the details of my own grief that I haven't once considered what she might be going through._ She was amazing. She didn't even flinch when she told him. It just rolled off her tongue as casually as if she were discussing the weather.

"What exactly is that?"

"I have a tumor pressing on my spinal cord." Again she showed little emotion. She simply stated her answer as fact.

"Is it painful? Are you in pain?"

"Sometimes it's painful. The tumor is located in the lower part of the thoracic region—close to the lumbar. I sometimes feel a burning pain in my back and legs."

"So you can still feel your legs then?"

"Oh yeah, I'm not paralyzed or anything. At first, the wheelchair was more for my father's peace of mind. I could walk, but my legs would give out on me. I guess he got tired of seeing me stumble. But when the numbness didn't go away, I was forced to use the chair. It's not a choice anymore."

"So how did you end up here in Los Angeles?" He asked.

"Well, I submitted my application for a candidacy here. Six people were selected to participate in a study. People suffering the same type of spinal disorder that I am. We've all been guinea pigs here while Dr. Walsh and his team tested us. The Board of Neurosurgery will review the results of all six candidates and will then select one to undergo a brand new surgical procedure."

Jonathan's level of fascination with her story never diminished. "What type of procedure is it?"

"To be honest, I'm not totally sure. A member of Dr. Walsh's team explained it to us, but it was just too technical for me. I kind of tuned it out. Some type of new super chip being used with a brand new type of micro laser. Computer directed surgery. Robotics. Something like that. The extent of my grasp of technology ends at the standard typewriter."

For the first time, Jonathan didn't have a response. He tried to process everything she told him. "When will the Board make its decision?"

"In a few weeks. It's more than just scanning the research results and picking a name out of a hat. The project is being underwritten by a lab here, so they have to have their people look at it, lawyers, et cetera."

"So you'll be eating cafeteria food for a while longer then?"

"Actually, no. I meet with Dr. Walsh in the morning and then fly back home the afternoon. They'll contact me when the selection has been made."

For the first time since he'd been with her, he felt disappointed. "Well, I am honored that you agreed to share a meal with me before going home." He raised his glass and offered his toast.

"Thank you very much. It's been the highlight of my stay."

They sat in silence for a moment, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Again, Jennifer looked at his hands, focusing on the Band-Aid.

"That day when I ran into you in the park, I noticed your hand was bandaged. What happened?" She asked.

"I cut it on a shard of glass. Max fell into this enormous mirror. I sliced it when I was trying to help him up."

"Did you get stitches?"

"No. It wasn't that deep. The EMT guys gave me a couple of butterflies. It's fine now."

"How did you meet Max? You said you met him when you were in college."

"The day I met Max..." A reticent smile crept across Jonathan's face. "The day I met Max was a day that changed my life. I was going to school at the University of Chicago. And I was running with a very dangerous crowd. The troubled youth of greater Chicago—the extremely wealthy troubled youth. Only I was the poor kid—the mascot of the group. One of my buddies had gotten in with some big time criminals. Gambling. He owed the wrong people money. A lot of money. I _volunteered_ to get him out of trouble with a little hustling job we'd planned. Only we were just kids. Didn't occur to us that we might be slightly out of our league. The plan went south and I was literally running down the street away from these men when I ran right into Max. Knocked him to the ground. He took one look at me and knew exactly what was going on. He pulled me into the bar he'd just come out of and we hid out in there until the coast was clear. We've been best friends ever since."

"Now that's an amazing story."

"Max's an amazing man. He played ball in the minors way back. Hell of a third baseman. But he never got called up. Eventually he went to work for the Cubs organization as their equipment manager. That man's knowledge of baseball is unbelievable. And between the diamond and the racetrack, he's got all his betting bases covered."

"Sounds like he's had an interesting life."

"Max is the best. And had it not been for him, I would probably be wearing cement boots in the Chicago River." He grinned, finishing off the last drops of wine in his glass. "Well, I guess I've told you just about everything there is to know about me. Your ears must be worn out."

"You haven't told me the really important things."

"The important things?

"The deep dark secrets of what makes you tick." She winked at him again.

"What do you want to know?"

"I'd like to interview you, Mr. Hart"

"Well, that would be interesting. But I don't give interviews. And you're not a journalist anymore, remember? You're a novelist."

"How about a sixty second interview then? You can time me if you like. I assure you it will be quick and painless." Her tone was lighthearted and her eyes shined.

"Quick and painless?" He asked, hesitantly.

"Scouts' Honor." She grinned.

"Okay, shoot." Jonathan laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

"Pancakes or waffles?"

"Pancakes."

"Mountains or Beach?"

"Mountains."

"Opera or Symphony?"

"Symphony."

"Early Riser or Night Owl?"

"Early Riser."

"Saver or Spender?"

"Spender."

"Dressy or Casual?"

"Dressy."

"Bourbon or Scotch?"

"Scotch."

"Baseball or Football?

"Baseball."

"Spring or Fall?"

"Spring."

"Blondes or Brunettes?"

"Redheads."

Jennifer blushed. Bowing her head, and with her best French accent, she replied, "Enchante." They both laughed.

"My turn." Jonathan sat upright in his chair. He leaned over the table toward her. _So she feels like flirting, huh?_ He lowered his tone, forcing Jennifer to lean in a little to hear him.

"Bacon or Sausage?"

"Bacon."

"Lake House or Beach House?"

"Lake House."

"Good Movie or Good Book?"

"Good Book."

"Cats or Dogs?"

"Dogs."

"Golf or Tennis?"

"Tennis"

"Bourbon or Scotch?"

"Gin."

"Summer or Winter?"

"Winter."

"Cookies or Ice Cream?"

"Ice Cream."

"A night on the town or an evening at home?"

"Home."

"Tall-Dark-and-Handsome or Tall-Dark-and-Handsome?"

Before Jennifer had a chance to answer, his phone rang. He fished it from his pocket then checked the display. "It's Michael. Excuse me one minute."

Jennifer could tell by the drastic change of his face that the call did not bring good news. His only responses were "Uh huh" and "I see." He flipped the phone shut and reached for his jacket. The playful, flirty look that she'd just been enjoying was now replaced with anxiety and haste.

"They've had to take Max back in for surgery. Something about increased cranial pressure. I've got to get back to the hospital. I'm so sorry."

The ride back to the Medical Center was quiet. Jennifer stared out the window. She wanted desperately to say something comforting to him, but she couldn't find the words. _Ha! Some writer! You've spent the last three hours exchanging intimate details of your personal life with this man and you can't find one word of comfort for him?_ She peeked over at his profile. His body was rigid and his hands gripping the wheel tightly. He leaned forward, as if willing the car to go faster. When they stopped at a light, she reached down and placed her hand on top of his and patted it supportively. He made no response. The light changed, and he put the car into first. Jennifer pulled her hand away, turning her gaze back to the window.

He drove up to the main door of the hotel where she and the other surgical candidates were being housed during their stay. He didn't waste time getting the wheelchair from the trunk. When Jennifer was settled, Jonathan spoke for the first time since leaving the pizzeria.

"Normally I would see you all the way inside…" His voice trailed off.

"Listen, I totally understand. You go and be with your family. They need you right now." Her look and tone were compassionate and tender.

"Thanks for understanding."

Jonathan climbed back behind the wheel and drove off. Jennifer watched until she saw his car disappear around the corner. She turned and wheeled herself inside the hotel.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan exited the elevator, his pace rapid. He found Sarah and Michael surrounded by a group of waiting room regulars. A young woman sat with her arm around Sarah's shoulder. Michael kneeled in front of her, his hands gently caressing her knees. Sarah's body shook as her tears rained down. Another man stood behind Michael, a box of tissues in his hand.

 _No, God! No! Oh my God, I'm too late!_ Jonathan felt himself go weak inside, as if a part of his body was floating away.

"Sarah," Jonathan called out to her. His voice was tight and not much more than a whisper.

"Oh, Jonathan!" Sarah stood up, wiping her tears with both hands. They exchanged a long embrace. Michael joined them. The waiting room was completely silent as the three of them stood together.

"Dr. Walsh will tell us everything immediately after surgery. The nurse promised that we wouldn't have to wait a minute longer than necessary." Michael's voice was shaky.

"So Max is still in surgery then? He's okay?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, as far as we know," Michael replied.

Jonathan pulled Sarah close once more. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Suddenly, he had an awful headache. He guided Sarah back toward her chair and the three of them sat down.

Michael reiterated the details of what had happened. Jonathan stared at him, but he wasn't listening. His head was pounding. He knew why. It was Guilt, knocking. Knocking loud and strong. _What the hell was I thinking? I was out enjoying myself—not a care in the world. Flirting with some woman I barely know, when I should've been here. I should've been right here. With Max._ He reflected on these thoughts for several minutes while the blanket of guilt continued to cover his mind.

A soft voice came over the hospital intercom, "Brennan Family."

The three of them rose and walked to the nurses' station. A nurse led them to a small private room just down from the waiting area. She instructed them to wait and that Dr. Walsh would join them soon. Jonathan glanced at the large clock on the wall, wondering why hospitals even had clocks. Seconds were minutes, and minutes were hours.

Dr. Walsh knocked twice on the door as he opened it. Immediately Jonathan searched his face for the first signs of good news. The doctor's expression showed neither that of delight nor concern. _Why do these surgeons have to be so damned guarded?_

"Well, let me first tell you that Mr. Brennan is fine. He's a tough one, for sure."

"You were able to deal with the increased cranial pressure then?" Jonathan asked.

"Cranial pressure? No, Mr. Brennan suffered a slight stroke."

Jonathan traded confused looks with Sarah and Michael.

"But the nurse said…" Michael began.

"I deeply apologize if you were given the wrong information. Mr. Brennan had a slight stroke, but he is going to be alright. In fact, he couldn't have been in a better place for something like this to occur."

"Define 'slight' please." The visions of a man losing control of his body, mixed with the guilt inside his head caused Jonathan's mind to race.

"Well, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being death, I'd say that Mr. Brennan is probably at a three. It's not uncommon for something like this to occur following an aneurysm. I don't want to say its routine, or that it's no big deal, but we were able to deal with the issue immediately. I've seen patients suffer worse, patients much older than Mr. Brennan even, only to walk out of here within a week or two. "

"So you don't think he'll suffer any long term effects because of this, then?" Jonathan needed for the doctor to bottom-line it for him.

"Well, I don't know for certain. But I would say I'm highly optimistic that Mr. Brennan will suffer little to no ill effects. However, the variety of effects that could result are vast. Anything from a minor speech impediment to complete mobility loss. I'm not trying to scare you, but I wouldn't be doing my job thoroughly if I didn't paint a realistic picture. But again, based on the fact that he was in ICU when it occurred, I think his chances for recovery are very, very good."

Sarah's tear-filled eyes met Dr. Walsh's. "How long before we can go in to see him."

"Well, I'd like to wait a little while. Maybe later tonight." The doctor responded. "Oh, one other thing. I decided that since I was already scrubbed up and in the game I would take care of the tube in Mr. Brennan's head. You won't be seeing it anymore."

"You removed it?" Michael asked.

"No, I just re-routed it. Now, instead of draining the fluid to an external location, I clipped and buried the tube in his head, under his skin, and ran a line down into his stomach. All the fluid will drain there from now on."

Dr. Walsh stood and shook hands with each of them. "I will send someone to get you when I feel that Mr. Brennan is ready to accept visitors."

The three expressed their heartfelt thanks and Dr. Walsh left. On the way back to the waiting room, Michael pulled Jonathan to one side.

"Listen, Sarah is exhausted. She didn't sleep well last night and, well, she's been up here all day. I think she's totally drained. I'm going to take her back to the apartment and see if I can get her to rest for a few hours. I'll bring her back up later. She's going to put up a protest, so I need Big Brother to back me up."

"No problem. That's a good idea. She looks so tired." Jonathan replied.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You know, I'm going to have to charge you rent for that chair."

Jonathan opened his eyes to see Dr. Walsh standing over him. He checked the clock on the wall. Surely it wasn't after eleven?

"Is Max alright?" Jonathan stood up and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Yes. I came out to get you earlier, but didn't want to wake you. Sleep is a precious commodity around here—you never get enough. I'm on my way home to grab a few hours of it myself. I just wanted to let you know that he's doing fine and that you can go in to see him now. Just stay a few minutes though and then go home. I don't want to find you sleeping in my office when I come back in a few hours." He patted Jonathan on the shoulder.

Once scrubbed, Jonathan walked quietly to Max's bed. He appeared to be exactly as Jonathan had seen him earlier that morning, minus the tube protruding from his now bald head. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he took Max's hand in his and rubbed it gently.

"So you're going to play daredevil, is that it? Just toy around with everyone by pulling this stroke business?" Jonathan gave a slight smile. "You've always been one for a good trick. You'd better pull this one out of your hat." He continued to stroke Max's hand when he suddenly remembered his pocket. "Hey, I brought you something."

Reaching his hand under the gauzy white gown, Jonathan retrieved a slim, clear, glass container. It was shaped like a tiny torpedo and held a fine Cuban cigar. He slipped the vessel neatly between Max's thumb and forefinger, holding it in place with his hands. Seeing the cigar in his limp hand made Max look a little more like himself again. Jonathan summoned the strength to flash his signature smile.

"In case of emergency, Old Buddy, just break the glass." He whispered.

 **TBC**

 **All reviews welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

Wisps of clouds dissolved out the window of the plane as it cruised uneventfully toward the nation's capital. Her father would be meeting her when she arrived and she couldn't wait to see him. She'd flown back only one time during the testing phase and she missed him, though they'd spoken on the phone almost every evening. It would feel so good to be back home. Good to sleep in a bed that was familiar. She was anxious to get back to work too. The idea for her latest story swam feverishly in her current of her mind. In that same ocean, however, swam another fish. Mr. Hart. Jonathan. That name—Jonathan. Remembering the afternoon of wine and confessions brought a smile to her face. Boarding the plane hadn't been easy. She wanted to talk to him—to see him one last time. But knowing that his attentions were elsewhere, she didn't pursue him. If anyone could appreciate the significance of privacy, it was she. And when the phone in her room at the hotel refused to ring, her resolve was confirmed.

She could still hear his voice. It had a certain huskiness she couldn't exactly describe—both smooth and rugged at the same time. A velvet ruggedness. Just a few hours hiding away in the back room of a convenience store and she'd learned more about him than she knew about most of her closest friends. His life was the stuff novels were made of. The handsome, wealthy playboy who'd fought his way through a heartbreaking childhood and was now at the top of his game. A middle-aged playboy, but handsome nonetheless. _What is his game exactly,_ she wondered. _No wives; present or otherwise. No children. No pets. An infirm, elderly gentleman in his charge six months out of the year. The high-dollar sports car. Razor sharp wit. Impeccable manners. Immaculate fashion sense. Winning smile. Dirty mind. A total flirt._ If she were to read her own description of him, she wouldn't give him a second thought. He could only be one of two things: a confirmed bed-hopping bachelor or a latent homosexual. And the quick flirtatious banter that flowed so effortlessly between them could only signify one thing: he was a player and a damn good one. _I've already gone the player route. Been there, done that._

It was almost dark when the plane touched down. Jennifer hated to give back the extra hours that the west coast had so graciously offered her. As customary, she waited for the other passengers to deplane before asking the steward to retrieve her carry-on bag. He wheeled her up the ramp in a courtesy chair where she found her father waiting for her. His expression was one of both joy and relief.

"Jennifer!" He kissed her on both cheeks.

"Hi Pa! I am so glad to be home!"

"How was your flight?" He spoke with loving concern.

"Quiet—just the way I like it." She squeezed his hand.

"Listen, my darling, I know it's rather late, but I've arranged for us to dine in the city. I hope you're feeling up to it. Is Gerard's alright?"

She was exhausted by the day of travel, but she wouldn't disappoint her father.

"Gerard's sounds wonderful."

XXXXXXXXXX

"It's about time." Archer placed his glass on the table and stood to shake hands with his close friend and business associate.

"I couldn't find a parking space." Jonathan sat down across from the grey haired gentleman.

"It's Friday night, Johnny Boy. Of course you're not going to find a parking space. Why didn't you just valet park?"

"Ava doesn't like strange men inside her." He nodded at a waitress, signaling his desire to order.

"What woman does?" Archer raised his glass with a wink.

Downtown was in full tilt though it was still early by weekend standards. It had been their weekly ritual prior to Max entering the hospital. Last one to the famed jazz bar bought the drinks for the evening. Jonathan hadn't been able to meet up with his one time business mentor and was looking forward to spending some time in what had been his normal routine. He'd promised Archer one drink and a few minutes before returning to the hospital for the last visitation period of the night.

"Have you seen him today?"

"This morning."

"Any change."

"Nope."

"How's Sarah holding up?"

"She's okay." Jonathan nodded again as the waitress delivered a Scotch and soda along with an overly flirtatious grin.

"I didn't get that kind of service when I ordered my drink." Archer confirmed.

"That's because everyone in here knows you for what you really are."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"A happily married man." Jonathan winked.

"It still shows?"

"Yep." He raised his glass to his lips.

"She said she might be able to meet us if she could get away."

"Where is she?"

"Symphony fundraiser."

"And she let you out of it?"

"Only because it's you."

"Even though I'm a bad influence?"

"Because you're a bad influence. You know Diane would trade me in for you in a minute if she thought she had a chance."

"If you don't treat her right, then I'll let her."

"I haven't heard you mention Angela in a while."

"Angela who?"

"Oh Johnny Boy, your Attention Deficit is showing again."

"Angela's not the one."

"Since when have you been looking for the one?"

"I'm not looking. I've just _realized_ some things since Max's been in the hospital, that's all."

"Like what?"

"Like how short this trip is and how maybe I've been riding the wrong bus."

"The wrong bus?" Archer laughed loudly. "You're the captain of the entire Greyhound fleet. And don't forget, you like it that way."

"Maybe it's time to try something new."

"Maybe you've met someone new."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because the meter's run out." He pretended to check his watch.

"What meter?"

"Your meter. The Jonathan Hart meter. Drop in a couple of coins…you know, the gorgeous body, the sharp mind. That holds their place for a few months. Then, the meter runs out and it's time for some shiny new coins."

"Speaking of meters, here comes my favorite meter maid..." Jonathan glanced behind Archer at a striking woman walking toward them. She was dressed to the nines and wearing a suspicious look.

"All alone on a Friday night? You two must be slipping." The woman gave Archer's shoulder a playful squeeze before sitting down in the chair between the two of them.

"Diane, I told you to wait for me back at my apartment." Jonathan leaned over, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

"I thought it only right that I be here with you when we break the news to Archer."

"What news?" Archer asked.

"Jonathan and I are madly in love. We're running away together. I'm leaving you."

"It'll never last." Archer shook his head.

"He's right. We'd live it up for a while, then you'd grow very bored. You might as well just stick it out with your old man. You've already invested so much time and energy to turn him around."

"You're just determined to break my heart, aren't you?"

"I can't help myself. It's what I do." Jonathan gave her a wink.

"How is Max, Hon?" She asked.

"The same. No change."

"Well if there's anything we can do…" She patted his hand.

He shared the details of Max's progress and his recent meetings with the support group. Archer and Diane listened with loving concern, thankful to see Jonathan doing well despite his current circumstances. Though they had only fifteen years on Jonathan, they always listened with parental ears. Archer, a one time competitor, had been coaxed out of an early retirement to sit at Jonathan's right hand. And Diane was the woman Jonathan judged all others against. They were, as everyone observed, the perfect couple. Even now that they were deemed seniors by society, when they walked into a room they still turned every head. Archer was the grey yet still dashing mogul and his wife, the forever graceful former Homecoming queen. They had what Max referred to as "the gravy." They had all the gravy. They were beautiful people, both inside and out. They'd weathered their share of life's roughest storms but still held hands in public and rarely spent a night apart. Despite the fact that he'd made millions over the course of his life, Archer shopped for bargains at Wal-Mart and never failed to ask for AARP discounts. And Diane was the most down-to-earth person Jonathan had ever met. She could shine in vintage Valentino at a charity event on a Friday evening and be shoveling manure at their estate in a pair of worn-out boots and one of Archer's old fishing shirts the next day. Besides Sarah and Michael, they were the only ones that knew the details surrounding Max's ordeal. And that's just the way Jonathan liked it. He was extremely private. He'd didn't have a choice. It was all he could do to convince the folks at Forbes not add his name to the list of eligible bachelor's each year. Even the women he'd dated over the past few years knew very little of the real Jonathan Hart. Though he hated to admit it, he wasn't sure if he even knew the real Jonathan Hart.

One drink turned into two and before he realized it, it was after eleven o'clock. With the final visitation period approaching, he knew it was time to make his exit and head back to the hospital. He hated to say goodbye. The evening, though brief, had given him a mental boost. A way to recharge his stressed out battery. He gave Diane a kiss on both cheeks and accepted a quick, supportive hug from Archer. Outside the bar, he walked briskly along the sidewalk toward the parking garage where Ava sat waiting. He couldn't help smiling; again filled with a feeling that seemed oddly familiar. It was the same feeling he'd had sitting across from a total stranger in a dark, hidden pizza take-out joint. It had been a two weeks since Max's stroke. And since then his thoughts had spent more time sitting back at the tiny table at Nino's place than anywhere else. The support group had given him the encouragement he needed to meet Max's medical condition head on. His guilt was in check and he felt more equipped to handle his needs once he was released from the hospital. But there was a part of him that the support group couldn't reach. A feeling that something was missing. Someone. A certain woman who'd come into his life in the bleakest, most chaotic moment—bringing in some much needed light. Jennifer. Jennifer Edwards. She'd wheeled in and out of his life in a matter of seconds. So fast that he hadn't even had a chance to tell her goodbye. At the time, he'd thought it for the best. He was dealing with a medical crisis while trying to close a multimillion dollar deal that had been months in the works. Throw a romance in the mix and everyone would lose. The timing was poor. Wretched. But it didn't change the fact that she found her way into his thoughts several times a day. _When things calm down…when Max wakes up and this deal is finally closed…_

The parking garage was empty and he whipped into a spot on Level One. With a check of his watch, he had just minutes to make it up to the sixth floor to wish Max goodnight. The harsh fluorescent lights burned his eyes as he entered the building. The lobby was deserted with the exception of a janitor polishing the floor and moving his head rhythmically to the sounds of an MP3 on his hip. An elevator was waiting and he made the short journey up alone. Standing at the double doors of ICU, he pressed the button. A young attractive nurse on the other side looked at him, then over to the clock. She pointed to her watch and shook her head. Jonathan folded his hands in a prayer clasp and flashed his best smile. She smiled and buzzed him through.

"You're gonna get me fired." She shook her head.

"Not if you don't tell." He rushed past her and to the visitors' area.

Within minutes he was scrubbed and at Max's bedside. Jonathan sat down and reached for his hand, thankful to see that his friend was starting to look more like himself.

"I just have a couple of minutes. The nurse is gonna run me out." He paused for a moment and patted the top of Max's hand. "The Angels won tonight. I left word for Slats to put a few bucks on the game for you. I'm sure he's counting up your winnings right now." Another pause as he silently studied Max's face. The grimace he'd worn for days was gone, and his face finally appeared to be relaxed and calm. The respirator was working noisily and the tube lay still on his lower lip.

"Archer and Diane send their love and promise to come see you as soon as you're outta ICU."

XXXXXXXXXX

He stopped in the lobby to retrieve the mail and found his box overflowing. Collecting the post was Max's job, and since he'd been in the hospital, Jonathan had only thought to check the mailbox a couple of times. Inside his apartment, he dropped his keys in the bowl beside the phone and checked the machine. No new messages. He continued on the living room, dropping the armful of mail on the sofa. In the kitchen, he found a bottle of Ibuprofen for the headache that came on just as he was leaving the hospital. _Two drinks on an empty stomach? I should know better._ He rinsed the coffee mug he'd left on the island, filled it with ice water and returned to the sofa and the stack of mail that waited.

Going through the mail was a chore that Jonathan actually enjoyed. He was very methodical in his sorting. Personal correspondence in one stack, philanthropy and charity, and finally parcels and packages. He started with the shortest stack first, but always left the packages until the end. Waiting to open them last made him feel like a kid at Christmas. He whipped through the stacks in record time, making notations on his Day Planner for upcoming events. It was half-past midnight and he was back in corporate mode—unable to turn his brain off despite his headache. Finally it was time for the presents. There were two. He examined the first—a heavy, legal size mailing envelope. It was postmarked Houston. He noted the logo in the upper left hand corner, bearing the name of an up-and-coming energy company. He placed the package to one side, wondering how they'd managed to get his home address, and reached for the second one. It was a plain brown parcel with no return address, bearing a DC postmark. _Yes!_ He thought. _Harrison and the information from the Dept. of the Interior…finally!_ Eager to see the contents housed inside, he ripped into the package. Expecting to find a stack of government documents, he was surprised when he pulled out a book instead— _Riders of the Purple Sage_ , one of Grey's most celebrated novels. A first edition copy. He opened the book and an envelope fell into his lap. Inside, he found a tasteful note card bearing a monogram of a single initial: the letter J. There, written in the most exquisite penmanship, he read the short message:

 _Thinking of you._

 _Give my best to Max._

 _And Ava._

 _Jennifer_

 _XXXXXXXXXX_

Jennifer was on her way out the door of her childhood home when the phone rang. _Damn!_ She was headed down to the stables to meet their trainer, Russell, to watch him work a new horse that her father had recently purchased. Some girls' fascination with horses ended when they gave up four legged stallions for the two legged variety. But not Jennifer. She loved animals in general, and horses in particular. She guessed it was because of all the animals in the world, she identified most with the horse. Horses are strong, hardworking, dependable, yet secretly looking for that tiny sliver of freedom—the desire to just break loose and run. Glancing from the phone to the door and back, she sighed and turned her chair around.

"Edwards residence." She answered. There was no response. "Edwards residence," She repeated.

"Hello, Jennifer. It's Dr. Walsh. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time."

Jennifer felt her heart suddenly jumped up in her throat. _Well, this is it._

"Dr. Walsh. No, you aren't interrupting a thing. I wasn't expecting a call from you for another week or so."

"Well, the Board is ready to move on this and all parties have signed on the dotted line. Congratulations, Jennifer. The Board voted unanimously. You were by far the most qualified candidate."

"Wow. I'm stunned. I certainly wasn't expecting to find this out so soon."

"Well, I'd like to go over the particulars with you if you have time."

"Absolutely. Just give me a minute to grab a pencil so I can jot all this down."

She listened attentively to Dr. Walsh while scribbling notes on the pad by the phone. Her heart continued to pound. She was really going through with it. She'd been chosen. For a moment, she felt pangs of guilt and sadness for the other five candidates. They were all such nice people and she enjoyed getting to know them during the testing phase. But Jennifer knew that she couldn't second guess herself now. She'd made a plan and she was sticking to it.

Stephen walked into the living room and found Jennifer lying on the sofa. He was instantly alarmed. His daughter was never one to just lie around.

"My darling, are you feeling alright? You're not ill are you?"

"No, I'm okay. Dr. Walsh called. The Board voted for me, unanimously." She stated, completely monotone.

"Well that is wonderful, Darling. It's what you've been working for. Congratulations." Stephen bent down and kissed her gently on the forehead. She didn't respond. "Now why on earth are you acting like this is the worst news in the world?" He asked, settling himself on the end of the sofa. He pulled her feet up onto his lap.

"I don't know. I guess I just don't feel right about it. I can't stop thinking about the others who didn't get picked. They were all such special people, Pa. I know they're sitting somewhere out there right now, scattered around the country, feeling like they've run out of options."

"My darling, you can't look at it that way. Everyone was given the same chance for success. They awarded the candidacy to you, my dear, because you were the best applicant for the procedure."

"I know, but…"

"Try to think of it this way. You are making the ultimate sacrifice for them. You are allowing medical science to use your body to test an innovative procedure. You are paving the way for them, don't you see?" Stephen rubbed his daughter's feet tenderly, just as he did when she was a little girl.

"I guess you're right." She smiled.

"Now then, I just came from the stables and Russell told me he's been waiting on you for half an hour. My dear, he's quite busy. You can't just leave him down there all day. Do you still want to go watch him work Sugarfoot, or should I call down and tell him to go ahead without you?"

"No, don't do that. I'll go. I was on my way down there when Dr. Walsh called."

Stephen helped Jennifer back into her shoes and the chair. She wheeled over to the door. Stopping, she turned once more toward her father.

"I love you, Pa. Thank you for always finding just the right words." She smiled again.

"I love you too, Darling."

Jennifer's father was a proper man. A dignified man. At times, he could be irrational and quick-tempered. He prided himself on being a man in control. But where Jennifer was concerned, he couldn't ignore the powerful grip she had one him. One that grew more intense with each passing year, as he felt himself wound tighter and tighter around her perfect little pinky. He'd given her a custom designed pinky ring for her twenty-first birthday—a joke between the two of them. He recalled the words he'd said to her that day. " _Now my darling, wherever you go in life, realize that there will be many men who will try their best to occupy your heart. But just remember this: I will always be the man to occupy that spot on your little finger."_

He moved his way around the sofa and over to the bar. It was still early, but in his mind, never too early for a martini. Stephen Edwards guessed he might have been a bartender in a past life, or perhaps in this one, had things gone differently. He relished making martinis as much as he enjoyed drinking them. He was just reaching for the vodka when the phone rang.

"Edwards' Residence," He answered in his staunch British accent.

"May I speak with Jennifer Edwards, please?"

"I'm so sorry, but Ms. Edwards is out-of-pocket at the moment. Do you care to leave a message?"

Jonathan gathered from the British accent and formal tone of the party on the other end that he must be speaking with a butler. It confused him somewhat, and for a moment, he thought that maybe he'd dialed the wrong number. Jennifer certainly didn't seem the type to reside in a staffed home. She was so down to earth and real. Nothing about her said money or privilege. Just class.

"When do you expect her to return?" He asked, glancing at his watch.

"Not for some time yet. You just missed her."

"Oh I see. Well, do you think she'll be back in _an hour_?"

"I really can't say." Stephen answered.

"But she _will_ be returning there at some point today?"

"Do you desire to leave a message for her or not?" Stephen response was sharp and short and Jonathan was completely taken aback. His mischievous nature kicked into overdrive and he couldn't resist the temptation to tease the proper English gentleman on the other end of the line.

"Just tell her that Tall-Dark-and-Handsome called. She'll know. She's totally hot for me, but I'm sure you already know that, huh Jeeves?"

"Excuse me. I'm not sure with whom you think you are speaking, but this is Stephen Edwards, Jennifer's father."

Jonathan paused, trying to decide how best to back-pedal his way out. For a moment, he considered hanging up altogether.

"I beg your pardon, Sir. My name is Jonathan Hart and I'm calling from Los Angeles." He waited to see if he'd get a response from the other end.

"Well, Jennifer has gone down to the stables and will probably be gone for at least an hour, maybe more."

"Would it be alright if I left my number?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, that would make returning your call much easier, wouldn't it then?"

Stephen found a pen in the drawer behind the bar and wrote the number down on a cocktail napkin. "You aren't that fellow that drives around in some Marilyn Monroe automobile, are you?"

Jonathan was again confused, but only for a moment. He couldn't help smiling as he answered. "No sir. It's Ava. Ava Gardner."

XXXXXXXXXX

When Jennifer returned from the stables, she found Stephen out on the patio. He was smoking a cigarette and enjoying his second drink.

"Sugarfoot looks great. I can't wait until I can take a spin on her."

"Plenty of time for all that. Would you care for a martini?"

"Vodka or Gin?" Though she knew the answer, she asked the question anyway.

"Vodka, of course." Stephen stirred the pitcher.

"You know what? I think I'll pass this time, Pa. I'm going to go out to the guest house and get cleaned up. Being out in the sun's made me all sticky." She turned the wheelchair around and rolled toward the French doors.

"Oh my dear, I almost forgot. You had a call while you were out. I wrote the number down on a napkin at the bar."

"Was it Dr. Walsh?" Jennifer asked.

"No. It was some lawyer."

"A lawyer? What lawyer?"

"I didn't catch his name, but he said you'd recognize the firm."

"What firm?" She inquired impatiently.

"I believe he said he was a partner with Tall, Dark and Handsome. Based in LA I think." He smiled, raising the martini glass toward his lips.

XXXXXXXXXX

He was just about the grab some lunch and head over the Medical Center when Deanne buzzed the intercom.

"Yes…"

"You have a call, Mr. Hart. Ms. Jennifer Edwards. Do you want me to take a message, sir?"

"No Deanne, I'll take the call. What line?"

"It's line two."

"Thank you."

Jonathan sat and stared at the blinking light on line two. _She called back_. Her voice was just one click away. He felt his pulse quicken. He lifted the receiver and pressed the button.

"Hello." He tried his best to sound casual and professional.

"Is this the law office of Tall, Dark and Handsome?"

Only ten words had left her mouth and immediately he felt that rush. The feeling he'd had the afternoon at the convenience store.

"Yes it is. How may I direct your call?" His tone was light and she could almost feel him smiling through the phone.

"I need to speak with Mr. Handsome, please."

"I'm sorry, but he's hopped a flight to Mexico. Would you like to leave a message?"

"Aww, that's too bad. I'm heading into town soon and thought he might want to meet up. But, if he's in Mexico…" Her cheeks burned with an intense smile of their own.

"Jennifer, how are you? Wait, before you say anything, I want to thank you for the book. What a surprise! And it's a first edition. Those are so rare. How'd you get it?"

"You know journalists and their sources."

"Well, it's fantastic and I really appreciate it."

"How are you doing? How's Max?"

They spent half an hour exchanging information about the goings-on of their lives. Jonathan was happy to deliver the good news of Max's improvements. Jennifer told him she'd been selected by the Board to undergo surgery. It was the same effortless conversation they'd started en route to the pizzeria.

"That's wonderful news, Jennifer. Really. I am so happy for you. When will you fly back in to town?'

"Day after tomorrow."

"Well, I'd like to pick you up at the airport. I won't take no for answer either."

"That would be great but only if you have the time. I know you're really busy and I don't want to interrupt your schedule with Max."

"Sarah and Michael are still here. They're handling the day shift. What time's your flight?" Jonathan listened, making note of her flight number and time. Completely out of character, he drew a heart around it when he was done.

"Well then, I guess I'll see you soon." Jonathan didn't really want to hang up.

"If anything changes, I'll call you back."

An uncomfortable pause passed between them—the first one they'd ever experienced.

"Jennifer?" His tone changed as he softly spoke her name.

"Yes?"

"I've really missed talking to you."

"Me too."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan checked his watched for the umpteenth time, then glanced nervously at the clock behind the counter. It seemed to be taking forever. _Obviously,_ he concluded, _airport clocks suffer the same affliction as the ones at the hospital._ He'd been sitting near the security check point for nearly an hour. His heart was beating fast and he noticed that his hands were a little clammy. He knew that in a matter of minutes, a plane would touch down, bringing with it a breath of fresh air. It had been over two weeks since they'd seen each other. In his mind, it felt like forever. But he'd been busy, allowing himself to get a jump-start on his own healing so that he might be able to move forward. He gave most of the credit to the support group and now his guilt was in check. He closed his eyes and tried to remember every detail of Jennifer's face. He could see her there, across the table in Nino's place. The way she threw her head back when she laughed. Her hands. They were so elegant and graceful. Her smile. Something about that smile, coupled with those sparkling eyes of hers. She was radiant. And what made her glow even more was that she had no idea just how beautiful she was.

Her flight number was announced and Jonathan stood up. The airport was full of people, so it made no sense for him to fight his way through the crowd. He walked to the back of the herd and carved out a spot to wait. Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned against a nearby pole. Carefully Jonathan began scanning the group, then realized that Jennifer would probably be among the last to deplane. Several more minutes passed and the large crowd had now dwindled to just a handful. He took a few steps forward in anticipation. And then, he saw her. A flight attendant pushed her in a courtesy chair; the two women laughing and talking. Jonathan smiled. He had a feeling it would be a day full of smiles.

"Thank you, Julie. I enjoyed visiting with you on the flight."

"Anytime. Enjoy your stay." The flight attendant patted Jennifer lightly on the shoulder and nodded at Jonathan. He nodded his head in return, assuring her that Jennifer was now in good hands. The woman walked away and he and Jennifer were alone. They looked at each other for several seconds, each waiting for the other to speak. Jonathan just wanted to slowly take in the moment and savor it to its fullest. He bent down and kissed her lightly on both cheeks.

"Welcome back!" He whispered in her ear.

"Thank you." She extended both hands out to him and he held them affectionately. Once again, there was silence as they stared at each other. But they didn't need words to communicate what they both were feeling. Their eyes told the story.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Listen, if it's alright with you, I need to make a quick stop back at my apartment."

"Of course. I don't meet with Dr. Walsh until later, so I have no set schedule."

"Well, in that case, why don't we go to lunch after we run by my place?"

"That sounds great."

Jonathan tapped the steering wheel. "Okay, I have a confession to make. But it's a good one. I wanted to surprise you at the hospital, but I just can't wait. Max's off the respirator." Jonathan beamed.

"Oh Jonathan, that's wonderful news! I know you are so relieved."

"He's not totally coherent yet. He's still pretty out of it, with all the medication he's on and given what he's been through. But Dr. Walsh says he may be able to move out of ICU soon if he shows progress. That's why we're stopping at my apartment. Dr. Walsh asked if I would bring up a couple of personal affects. He wants to see if Max responds to them. With the slight stroke, there's a chance that he may experience some memory loss. I'd like for you to come and meet him tonight, if you feel up to it."

"I'd like that very much."

Their conversation was just as natural as it had been that afternoon at the pizzaria and on the phone. Traffic from the airport was not too bad, not that either would've noticed. They laughed and talked as though a day had not passed between them.

"Would you like to come up and see the place?' He asked as they pulled into the parking garage of his apartment building.

"A chance to be inside the inner sanctum of your bachelorhood? Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it for the world." She winked.

Carefully Jonathan guided her through the garage. Once inside the elevator, Jennifer tried to imagine what his living space would look like. _What would Ava looks like as an apartment?_ Images of chrome, leather, and graphic modern art flashed through her mind. Very upscale, very tasteful…very expensive.

He turned the key and opened the door. "Enter, my good lady." He said with a slight bow. Carefully she wheeled herself through the door way and into his apartment. She was immediately impressed and rather surprised.

"Oh, my! This is…."

"Not what you were expecting, right?" Jonathan smiled as he tossed his keys in a primitive wooden bowl on the entry table, noting the blinking light on the answering machine.

"Not at all. Once again, you've succeeded in surprising me, Mr. Hart." She continued to take in the room.

"What were you expecting then?" He asked.

"Well…to be honest, I was thinking more along the lines of _Ava with a coffee table."_

"C'mon, now. You know I love my Ava, but she's just for show. I want my home to feel like, well _, a home_." He took off his jacket and tossed it on the back of the sofa.

 _Well Jennifer, normally you're dead-on in reading people, but you sure missed this one,_ she thought to herself. If she had to describe the room in one word, it would be classic. The living room was large, but didn't feel cold or overbearing. All the furnishings were exquisite. Two large sofas faced one other in the center of the room. Their upholstery was inviting suede, rich and buttery. Two oversized leather wing chairs flanked the massive oak fireplace hearth. The walls were painted in a soothing shade of caramel. Beautiful gilded frames housing stunning impressionist paintings lined the walls. The room was nothing short of dazzling, yet warm and intimate. But she was most taken with an enormous bookcase, intricately carved, that dominated an entire wall on its own. It contained hundreds of books. Her eyes scanned their spines, finding he collected everything from Faulkner to Voltaire to Jane Austen.

"Are these just for show as well?" She asked, pointing at the books.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said that I've read everything up there. But I'd say I've read at least ninety percent." Jonathan leaned against the arm of the sofa, watching Jennifer.

"Your place is absolutely amazing. And it definitely feels like a home."

Jonathan smiled again. "Well that's a huge compliment, considering I don't get to spend much time here. Would you like something to drink?"

"No I'm fine, thanks."

"Would you excuse me for a sec. I see that I have a message." Jonathan walked back over to the answering machine and pressed the button."

"Hello, Jonathan?" Jennifer's ears perked up when she heard a woman's voice. "This is Marge at Celebrity Cleaners. Listen, Sweetie, you know I love you, but your clothes are really starting to cut into my space here. I'll throw them in the van and have someone drop them off later today. If you aren't home, then we'll leave them downstairs with Nathan. Okay, sweetie? Bye!"

 _"Sweetie?_ You're on a first name basis with your _dry cleaning lady?_ I thought you said you didn't spend much time here." Jennifer kidded.

"Clothes make the man. So that means get in good with your local dry cleaner. I can't possibly look this good all by myself." Jonathan picked up the phone and dialed down to the lobby, informing the doorman of the pending delivery.

Jennifer nodded. _Oh, I think you'd do fine all by yourself._

"Would you like the fifty cent tour of the rest of the place?" He asked. She followed him through the kitchen and dining room and out onto the balcony.

"What a view! It's fantastic. I bet it's beautiful at night."

"It's beautiful any time of the day." Jonathan looked straight at her and she knew his flirtatious comment had little to do with the LA skyline. Feeling embarrassed, she quickly looked away.

He pushed her chair down the hall, narrating various paintings hanging on the walls. He paused when they came to Max's bedroom. He opened the door and she quickly peeked around. "Very nice." She responded. They continued down the hall to what she assumed was his bedroom. Now what his bedroom looked like, she had no clue. But based on the rest of the apartment, she knew it would be nothing less than fabulous.

"My slumber chamber…" He said, opening the door with dramatic flair.

Once again, Jennifer was surprised, but for a completely different reason. The room was dark and sparsely furnished. Basically just your standard contents: a bed, nightstands, dresser, and chair. Nothing fancy, nothing impressive. It was neat and clean, but in a way, sad. It certainly didn't reflect the warmth as the rest of his home. The walls were bare. No pictures. She glanced over at the dresser. A few magazines were neatly stacked on one side, with a glass cube containing an autographed baseball on top of them. In the corner sat an overstuffed chair; its seat stacked with books. Finally, hers eyes stopped to rest at the bedside table. _How odd? No alarm clock. Just a lamp, another book, and…a photo. A photo of a woman_. Her heart skipped a beat and suddenly she felt strange. Almost like an intruder.

"Very nice." She said once again. It was all she could think to say.

They returned to the living room and spent a few minutes exploring his vast collection of literature. With each title she read, she became more and more intrigued by him. His choices in authors were diverse and impressive.

"What's upstairs?" She pointed toward the staircase.

"The guest suite, the home theatre, and my library."

"More books?" She inquired.

"Reading's always been my life. It was my escape when I was growing up."

"I know what you mean. Nothing like a good book to take you away."

"Once you're out of your hot-rod, I'll take you up there. And see that spiral staircase? That leads to the cupola. Talk about an amazing view. You can see the entire city up there."

"As soon as I'm out of this hot-rod, I'll take you up on that."

It was well past lunchtime and they were both getting hungry. Jonathan was eager to recapture that perfect lunch they'd shared the afternoon of Max's stroke. He'd had an idea earlier, and hopefully the rain clouds that'd followed him to the airport would move on. He didn't want anything to spoil their limited time together.

"Well, shall we go then?" He asked.

"I'm ready when you are." She replied.

"Wait here while I grab the stuff from Max's room." Jonathan turned and walked down the hall leaving Jennifer alone. As she continued to survey the many titles in the bookcase, someone knocked on his door. She glanced toward the hallway, but found no sign of Jonathan.

"Should I get the door?" She hollered.

"Yeah, if you don't mind," He called back. "That's the dry cleaning. Just have him bring it back here."

Jennifer wheeled herself over to the door and turned the knob. Standing in the hall was a tall, striking woman. Her facial features were well defined; her blond hair cut in a severe bob. _Well, even the delivery folks at Celebrity Cleaners look like celebrities._ She was dressed in what Jennifer knew to be designer clothing. On her face, a pair of over-sized retro sunglasses a la Sophia Loren. In her arms, a brown monogrammed bathrobe. _The woman in the photo._

"Is Jonathan here?" The woman asked.

Jennifer nodded, backing the wheelchair away from the door as the woman stepped inside the apartment.

"Listen, just bring the cleaning…" Jonathan stopped as he rounded the corner from the hall. "Angela?"

"Hi, Jonathan. I've tried to reach you several times, but I guess..." The woman glanced back at Jennifer.

Taking the hint, Jennifer looked at Jonathan. "I'll be in the kitchen." She said, quickly wheeling her way out of the living room.

Once alone, Angela spoke. "I had your robe cleaned. I was going to leave it downstairs with Nathan, but he said you were here."

"You didn't need to go to any trouble." He responded.

"Oh it's no trouble." She paused for a minute and sighed. "However, what I do find troubling is that I've called and called and you haven't had the common courtesy to return even one."

Jonathan didn't try to stop her. Apparently, she'd rehearsed a speech, and he was going to give her the floor to get it all out.

"Yeah, about that…"

"Did you ever stop for one minute to consider anyone beside yourself? Did you ever think that maybe _I_ care about Max too? He's my friend too, Jonathan."

He could tell that she was more hurt than angry. But Angela was tough, and if he were to bet on seeing tears from her, his bet would be no.

"Look, the past couple of weeks have been a very difficult and stressful time in my life. I have an extremely large amount on my plate right now."

"Oh I don't think your _plate_ has anything to do with it. You just can't resist making your way through a tempting new buffet line." She shot a look toward the kitchen.

"Oh c'mon, Angela..."

"I just can't understand why you're shutting me out. I mean, I was the one here with you that night. Doesn't that count for something?" She waited for a response.

Jonathan didn't know what to say. It's not like this was the first time he'd been in this position. Of course, he'd never had to break it off with someone while he had another on deck in the next room. Nevertheless, he didn't want to hurt her feelings. But there was no other way to end it. Feelings were casualties where the heart was concerned. He took a deep breath and collected his thoughts. He would have to choose his words very carefully. He did not want to create a big scene with Jennifer in the next room. _My God, I wonder what she's thinking right now?_

"I'm not going to stand here and lie to you. That's not the way I operate and you know it. I tell the truth. Sometimes good, sometimes not so good. I really think its best if we just part as friends. I've learned a lot about myself over the course of this journey with Max. And I've got a long road ahead of me with his recovery. I'm not willing to settle for something that's not absolutely perfect."

"So I'm settling is that it?"

"That's not what I mean. I like you and we've had a lot of fun together the past few months. But I don't want you to think that this is going somewhere because it's not. It wouldn't be fair to you if I let you believe otherwise. Was I an ass for not calling you back? Absolutely. Do you have every right in the world to hate me? Most definitely. But I can't change what's done. And I'm not going to apologize for it either. It's how I felt at the time."

He tried to determine what was going through her mind, but her face and posture remained unchanged. She looked down at the floor for a moment.

"So I guess that's it then?" She said, looking up at him.

"Yes, I guess so." Jonathan looked her straight in the eye. Was she going to protest or just accept it?

She held out the robe to him. "Here. I think you may have left a book at my place too. And you have a toothbrush. I can drop them off downstairs later." Her tone was business-like and cold.

"Sure. And I think you left a pair of sandals in my closet. I'll go get them." Jonathan hurried back to his bedroom. He returned in less than a minute, carrying her forgotten shoes and one other item. "I thought you might like to have this as well." He held out the framed photo from his nightstand.

"Keep it." She said with a voice full of contention. She jerked the shoes from his hands and turned sharply. She never looked back as she slammed the door behind her.

Jonathan sat down on the edge of the sofa, running his fingers through his hair just as Jennifer peeked around the corner. The slamming door had pretty much assured her that the coast was clear. She didn't think she'd ever been trapped in a more awkward situation in her life. Should she wait in the kitchen or go to him?

Though he was glad it was finally over, he still felt bad. He never intended to hurt Angela. He never intended to hurt any of them, but it always seemed to end that way. He blamed himself. He'd let himself get too comfortable in the relationship. And then he'd been too lazy to end it sooner. It'd been his M.O. for years. Living and working in a variety of locales made it easy for him to be careless where women were concerned. Too easy.

Hearing a noise, he turned around and saw Jennifer in the entry to the kitchen. An oven mitt on one hand, she wielded a large barbeque fork in the other. Jonathan couldn't contain his laughter. He fell over on the sofa as he watched Jennifer swing the utensil around, as if sparring with an imaginary foe.

"Go ahead, bring her back. I can take her." She announced. Jonathan could not stop laughing.

"I am sooooo sorry about that. Talk about bad timing!" He motioned for Jennifer to join him in the living room.

She rolled the chair over near him. Removing the oven mitt, she placed it on the coffee table, along with the fork. Turning to Jonathan, she shrugged her shoulders and smiled innocently.

"Look, I'm not trying to make fun of what just happened. I just thought the moment could use some levity."

"I guess you heard everything then?" He asked.

"Pretty much. It couldn't be helped. I tried to occupy myself with the contents of your pantry. You're running low on pancake syrup, by the way." Her smile was warm. It mesmerized him.

"God that was awful wasn't it?" Jonathan shook his head.

"Listen, we don't have to talk about this. It's really none of my business anyway."

"No, actually I _want_ to talk about it at some point, but not now. I do not want what just happened to be the focus of our day. Now, I believe we have a lunch date, do we not?"

"Yes, Mr. Hart, I believe we do."

"Well then, let's be off. I know this great little place not far from here."

"Let me guess. Marge runs a sushi bar in the backroom of the dry cleaners?"

Jonathan laughed out loud once more. He looked down into her eyes. Their color was still a mystery.

"How do you do that?" He asked, his voice had a softer, more serious tone.

"Do what?" She asked, noting the sudden change in his voice.

"Make me feel so damn good."

XXXXXXXXXX

"How do you feel about outdoor dining, Ms. Edwards?" He asked as he pulled out of the parking garage.

"Anywhere's fine by me." The sun was now shining and she reached inside her bag for her sunglasses.

"Well, it's turning out to be a gorgeous day. What do you say to a picnic in the park?"

"A picnic sounds great. But really, I don't want to keep you from anything."

"The whole afternoon has been cleared just for you. Consider it Jennifer Edwards Day—your official _Welcome Back to California._ " He gave her a quick wink.

"Well, if California is really that excited to have me back. I wouldn't want to let down the entire state."

The two were quiet for several minutes as they made their way through traffic. It was a relaxed sort of quiet—not at all awkward or uncomfortable.

"Hey, help yourself to the stereo, if you like. Or, I've got some CDs here in the console that you might want to listen to." He flipped up the console lid and Jennifer peeked inside.

"You know they say you can tell a lot about a person by their music collection."

"Really?"

"Would you like for me to read your musical palm, Mr. Hart?" She waved her hand in front of him like a magician, speaking with a voice that sounded like a gypsy. He laughed.

"How much is this gonna cost me?"

"We will work out trade later." She winked, continuing her gypsy impersonation. Slowly, she ran her finger across the different choices in the console.

"Ah, I see here that you have Frank Sinatra—the Chairman of the Board, no?" Jonathan smiled and shook his head. "Mine thinking is that you like to be man in control. Wait! What is this? _Two_ Franks in here. Most definitely, you like to run show." She gave him a sly smile. "Billie Holiday, John Coltrane, The Trumpet Stylings of Harry James. This say to me, you have ear for jazz, no?"

"I played the trumpet in eight grade."

"Really? Maybe sometime you show me your instrument?"

As soon as she'd said it, she realized the sexual implication. She bit her lip awaiting the inevitable quip that was sure to follow.

Jonathan looked her square in the eye. "Nope, not even gonna go there. Too easy."

"Good idea. I continue. Genesis, Santana, Steely Dan—you have quite variety here. This make me think you spontaneous and adventurous, no?"

Jonathan just smiled and continued to shake his head. Her sense of humor was one of the things he found most attractive about her.

"Wait! What is this? This I am not expecting? Willie Nelson? Is this country singer with bandana?"

"Well, you didn't think you were the first Redheaded Stranger to go cruising around with me, did you?" He tried to sound serious. Jennifer could not stay in character—he'd finally gotten her. She laughed.

"Oh that was awful. Really bad."

"I couldn't resist." He winked.

"Okay, enough with silliness. I must finish." She was immediately back in character. "Let me see…Ike and Tina…Barry White?" She broke character once more. "Barry White? You listen to Barry White?"

"That's not even mine."

"You're just holding it for a friend, right?" She grinned.

"Exactly." He nodded.

"Okay, I go on. Hmmm...Blondie." Jennifer paused for a moment. "Didn't you just break up with her at apartment?"

"That's good," Jonathan smirked. "You're very quick."

"Well, we now down to last one: Billy Joel. This tell me that you like to spend time at piano bars, no?"

"You got it." He nodded.

At this point, Jennifer dropped her gypsy persona and spoke in her normal voice.

"I vote for Mr. Joel."

"Well, pop him in."

They'd barely listened to the first song when they drove into the parking lot at the park. He quickly retrieved the wheelchair, along with a large plaid blanket. She balanced the blanket on her lap as Jonathan pushed her along the pathway that circled the park. They observed the crowd—couples, children, and dogs all enjoying the beautiful afternoon sunshine. There was a light breeze in the air and Jennifer couldn't imagine any place she'd rather be. Jonathan pointed to a shady tree and she nodded in agreement. Carefully he pushed the chair through the grass. They stopped under the large oak and Jonathan spread the blanket out on the ground. He turned and saw Jennifer setting the brakes on the wheelchair. _Another dilemma. How to get her out of the chair?_ He turned to her and bent down, placing his hands on the armrests of the chair.

"Wrap your arms around my neck."

His voice was almost a whisper. She looked into his eyes noting that the playful expression they'd held since leaving the apartment was replaced with that of genuine caring. She raised her arms and placed her hands behind his head, lacing her fingers together. Jonathan slowly slid one arm firmly around her waist and the other under her knees. Cautiously, he lifted her from the chair. He didn't know why, but he was surprised she was so light in his arms. Not that he expected her to feel especially heavy, but he didn't think it would be so effortless either. He handled her like an expensive piece of crystal, lowering her down on the blanket as gently as he could. And though he'd held for just a few seconds, he couldn't describe the strange feeling that came over him. Not a lustful feeling, but something else. Something deeper and more intense. A protective feeling. It was a feeling he'd never experienced in his life. Jennifer said something to him, but he missed it.

"I'm sorry, what?" He asked.

"There's the hot dog vendor. Tony, right?" She pointed.

"That's him. What would you like?"

"Surprise me."

Jonathan returned minutes later with their lunch and they fell right back into that same natural, uninhibited conversation. They definitely had their own rhythm. It was like a tennis match between the two of them—nothing but perfect volleys back and forth. He was amazed at her intellect, her intuition, her wit. Jennifer was fascinated by his compassion, his attentiveness, and his touch of mischief. She silently reevaluated the list she'd made of him the day she left. She would have to move Flirt to the top of it. Everything she said was somehow twisted into a double entendre or some sort of risqué quip. She couldn't remember when she'd laughed more. His sense of humor was incredible and naughty and she couldn't resist feeding him straight line after straight line. They were completely engrossed in one another. The park was full of people but side by side on the blanket, they only saw one another.

"May I ask you a very personal question?" He asked.

"Certainly."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough."

"I understand. I was out of line for asking. My apologies."

"I'm kidding. I'm thirty-six."

"Your father's not in hotel maintenance, is he?"

"Uh, no. He raises horses, remember? Why?"

"Long story. Just checking."

"How old did you think I was?"

"Well, I was in the ball park. Twenty-nine, thirty. You certainly don't look your age."

"What ballpark are you in?" She asked after a quiet moment.

"A much older one." He winked.

"Forty-one?" She guessed.

"Plus seven."

"You're forty-eight?" She looked surprised.

"I warned you. I'm the Wrigley Field to your Nationals Park."

"You certainly don't look your age."

"And I've been told on more than one occasion that I don't act it either." He winked again.

Jennifer propped herself up on her elbow and faced him. Jonathan was lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. She studied him. It was the first opportunity she'd had to really look at him since rolling off the plane. Her eyes made mental notes of every line, every feature. He had a few traces of grey at his temples which she hadn't noticed in the dark confines of the gas station eatery. On his left wrist he wore a silver Rolex watch. No diamonds. A Submariner—the same watch her father wore. On his right, a two tone magnetic link bracelet. _He's a golfer_. No rings. Nothing hanging around his neck. He wore a plain yellow polo shirt and khaki pants. No pleats. No cuffs. On his feet, a pair of casual loafers. An expensive leather belt at his waist, though she couldn't remember the brand. _How can he be twelve years older than me? We laugh and joke like we've grown up together._ Sensing that he was being watched, he opened his eyes. He smiled at her as he propped himself up on his elbow to face her.

"You're staring at me." He whispered.

"No I'm not." She whispered back.

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm _looking_."

"There's a difference?" He asked.

"Of course."

"And you'll explain it to me later, I assume?"

"Naturally,"

Jonathan sat up and glanced down at his watch. "I think something may be wrong with my watch."

"Did it stop?"

"No, just the opposite. It sped up. I seem to have misplaced two hours. Have you seen them?"

"You're kidding? We've been sitting here that long?"

"A sure sign of a perfect afternoon." He said.

"Oh look at the kite. Look!" She pointed to a young couple laughing and running across the grass as a colorful heart-shaped kite danced behind them. Jennifer observed the expressions on their faces. Jonathan studied her reaction to the young couple, feeling his heart wrench. His eyes moved in the direction of her wheelchair. As much as it was a part of who she was, though, Jonathan didn't see it. It just melted away and she was all that remained.

"May I ask you another question?" He asked and she returned her gaze to him. "What do you miss most? I mean, what do you miss doing now that you're in the wheelchair?" He watched her eyes. He could tell by her expression that he hadn't overstepped his bounds.

Jennifer had never really thought about it. She'd tried to remain as optimistic as possible about her physical limitations. Her plan was to stay in the chair not a moment longer than necessary.

"Well, there are lots of little things I miss. You never realize just how blessed you are until you have to give something back. As my father would say, _Life is a tough teacher. It gives the test first, then the lesson."_

"Well, what's the first thing you want to do when you finally get out of that chair?"

She looked back at the couple; her face introspective. "Dance. I was a dancer for years—all through my childhood and into my teens. I love to dance."

He paused for a minute and imagined what it would feel like to hold her close on a dark dance floor.

"Well, please reserve a spot for me on your dance card."

"The first and the last." She smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the hospital. He dropped Jennifer at the entrance before making his way to the parking garage. She checked-in at the main desk in the lobby and waited. Her cheeks ached. Her smile hadn't had a moment's rest since she rolled off the plane. It had been a perfect afternoon. Jonathan walked through the doors of the hospital whistling a Billy Joel tune. He found her waiting at the information desk.

"They just buzzed Dr. Walsh's office and left word that I've arrived. He's expecting me, so I guess I should go up."

He followed behind her as they headed for the elevator.

"Well, I can make it in to see Max for a few minutes. Why don't I wait for you and when you're finished up, I can take you to your hotel. You're staying close by, right?"

"Yes, at the Hotel Bel-Air."

"Five Star treatment." He whistled.

"Well, it's not like I'm paying for it. Just part of the package. _Let us cut on your spine and we'll put you up in a luxurious suite for a mere eight hundred dollars a night."_ She replied.

"Are you kidding? Eight bills a night?"

"Well, actually it's nine-fifty for the garden suite."

"Hell, I'd have let you stay in Max's room for a buck twenty-five." He commented with a devilish smirk.

The elevator carried them up to the fifth floor. He held the door for her as she wheeled herself out. She turned and smiled once more.

"Well, looks like we're back at the scene of the crime."

Jonathan gave her a puzzled look.

"Remember? This is just how it was the first time we saw each other."

"Ah yes, the Elevator of Fate." He smiled.

"So you believe in fate then, Mr. Hart?" She asked, as the doors slowly began closing.

"I do now." He answered.

XXXXXXXXXX

The doors opened on the sixth floor and Jonathan walked right into Sarah. He hugged her fondly.

"How's he been this afternoon?"

"He's about the same—like he spent all afternoon at a bar. He's pretty out of it."

"Where's Michael?"

"You just missed him. He went down to bring the car around. He's not feeling very well."

"I'm so sorry. Please give him my best."

"I'll call you in the morning."

"I'll be here at eight-thirty." He kissed her on the cheek and walked quickly to the ICU.

Behind the curtain, Max was exactly as he'd been earlier that day when he'd stopped in for the first visitation. The only difference was the absence of the respirator tube. Julian walked by, giving him a wave and a reassuring nod, but didn't stop to chat. Jonathan sat quietly on the end of the bed watching the closest thing he had to real family.

"Well, she's here. Remember, I told you she'd be coming in today. I can't wait for you to meet her. I'm gonna bring her back up here with me later. You're gonna love her." He imitated Max's voice with a smile. "It's time to come back now, Max. You've played 'possum long enough."

XXXXXXXXXX

Back in the elevator, Jonathan beamed. He just couldn't stop smiling. No other person had made him feel so alive. There was an energy inside him that he couldn't describe. He just wanted to be with her. It was as if he'd finally found himself—his one, true, comfortable self when they were together. He pressed the button several times for the lobby. _Why the hell is this elevator so slow?_ It came to a stop on the fifth floor and the doors opened. There she was. She laughed and shook her head.

"Now this looks familiar." She smiled.

He held his hand against the door and she rolled herself in. Once inside, he knew he couldn't wait another minute. He pressed the emergency stop button on the panel. An alarm sounded and the elevator came to an abrupt halt.

"Jonathan, what on earth are you doing?"

He bent down and took her face in his hands. His eyes were serious and he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

"Something I've wanted to do all day."

Jennifer looked into his eyes and she knew. She wanted it too. Slowly leaning forward he found her lips and kissed them delicately. They were soft and warm. He could feel her hair fall softly against his hands. Like everything else between them, it felt completely right. He pulled away and smiled, losing himself in that same, unfamiliar feeling that gripped him in the park. Though he hadn't kissed her deeply, he realized he'd done something totally foreign and far more dangerous. He'd kissed many beautiful women in his life, but never like this.

 **TBC**

 **All reviews welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

"Enjoy your stay." The woman behind the reservations counter smiled and motioned for a bellboy. Jonathan pushed her through the lobby and out into the gardens. They followed the signs until they found her suite, Number Twenty-one.

Jonathan pointed at the sign on the door. "You've hit Blackjack right off the bat."

Jennifer smiled and handed him the card key. He swiped it quickly and guided the chair through the doorway.

"Wow!" Jonathan said, with an impressed whistle. "This place is really something. I guess they want you to feel like you're getting your eight hundred dollars worth."

"Nine-fifty, but who's counting?"

"I guess Dr. Walsh and the hospital."

"I think the lab he's working with is footing the bill. But I have to say this is a little on the extravagant side. I mean, I don't really need all this just to lie around in after surgery."

"Well, I think it's the least they can do. After all, look at what you're doing for them. You can't put a dollar amount on that."

"I guess you're right."

The bellboy placed Jennifer's things in the large walk-in closet. Jonathan stood and followed him to the door, reaching into his pocket for the tip.

He returned with a serious look. "Look, I know you've had a full day. If you'd like to rest or just call it a day, I totally understand." He knew it was the right thing to do, but he prayed her answer would be no.

"I'm not the least bit tired."

"Would you be interested in dinner and, if you feel up to it, maybe going back to the hospital to meet Max?"

"I would love to meet Max. When's the next visitation?"

"Not until eight-thirty We could go to dinner first, if you like."

"Are you hungry?" She asked.

"Not really, but I am thirsty."

"Why don't we go have drinks somewhere? Then we can visit Max. After that, if we're hungry, we could grab a late dinner."

"Now how is it that you can read my mind? That's exactly the plan I was thinking of." With his hands in his pockets, he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Well, my powers are greater than those of mere mortals." She said, once again channeling her inner gypsy. "Shall we go?"

Jonathan whispered in the valet's ear and slipped him a fifty. He and Jennifer waited just outside the lobby for Ava to make her way around. When the valet arrived several minutes later, Jonathan gave him a wink and the valet nodded in return. He held her hand in his as he steered his way through the evening traffic. He gently traced along the outside of her thumb. He couldn't help smiling as he thought about what it would feel like to trace other parts of her body.

"I'm guessing you haven't had a chance to see much of the city."

"Aside from the Medical Center? No."

"Well, there are a lot of great bars in this town. What are you in the mood for? Some fine wine? Beer? We've got some serious pubs here along with the classic Texas-style beer joint."

"You mean like the classic English pubs?"

"Absolutely."

"No thanks. I lived in London. I'll gladly pass on the pub scene."

"Really? I didn't know that. What were you doing in London?"

"I wish I could say. I'm still asking myself that same question."

Jonathan noticed a change in her tone and made a mental note. _Avoid topics that concern the UK._

"Well, when you're stepping out in DC for a cocktail, where do you go?" He returned to the original topic.

"Actually, I'm pretty easy to please. A good martini is typically my beverage of choice."

"Upscale and crowded or quiet and out of the way?"

"What do you think?"

"Option Two?"

"Correct."

"Then I know just the place." He gave her hand a squeeze.

With her hand still in his, he took her along his favorite drive in Beverly Hills. Their conversation stalled, but only because Jennifer was busy eyeing the stately mansions that defined the area.

"It's still the most exclusive address in Los Angeles. Not too shabby for a piece of swamp land that was once overrun by wild horses." He offered.

"This place? A swamp? "

Jonathan laughed and squeezed her hand once more. "Actually, this area was considered holy ground at one time, according to the Native Americans that lived here. And the swamp, which is now the intersection of Sunset Boulevard and Beverly Drive, was called _El Rodeo de las Aguas_."

"The gathering of the waters." She translated with a smile. "Just how do you know all this?" She asked.

"I used to be a tour guide at Universal." He winked.

"Well it's absolutely beautiful here. These estates are so peaceful and quiet that it feels like we're a million miles away."

"So would you trade your DC apartment for one of these?" He asked.

"In a heartbeat."

"What about your Maryland horse ranch?"

"I may be impulsive, but I'm not stupid." It was her turn to give his hand a squeeze.

Ava pulled into a mostly deserted parking lot in a small shopping center. Most of the shops were closed, and only a few cars were scattered about. Jennifer searched the signs atop the buildings, but didn't see anything that indicated a quiet martini bar. Her eyes came to rest on one sign identifying a pub. _Oh well, maybe he thought I was just kidding. For him, I'll suffer through the pub scene._

He helped her out of the car and into the chair. Pushing her along the concrete walk, she couldn't help noticing his perplexed expression reflected in the store front windows. His pace slowed considerably, as if he were lost.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"I haven't been here in a while, but I was sure that there was a bar in this shopping center."

"Well, there's Madigan's." She pointed across the parking lot.

"Pubs were vetoed, remember?"

"I was just kidding. I'd love to go if that's what you'd like."

"No, now just give me a minute. I know there's a bar here somewhere. I've been there." He pushed her wheelchair around the side of the building, stopping just underneath a metal stairway.

"Ah! Here we are."

"But there's nothing back here."

"Are you sure?" He leaned against a blue door, scanning the area around them.

"Unless the vagrant community is planning to come out of hiding and whip us up a drink on the spot, I think we're in the wrong place."

"So what you're saying is that you'd prefer your drink in a glass and not out of a paper bag?"

"Too provincial?" She teased.

"Let's get inside before this place gets really crowded." He tuned away from her and gripped the handle of the large metal door behind him.

"What are you doing?"

"Password?" He turned back to her with a sneaky smile.

"You're crazy…" She shook her head.

"Bingo. That's it." He pushed open the door to reveal another one of his secret hideaways. There, behind a door that appeared to be nothing more than a back entrance to one of the shops was a small dark bar.

"You are just full of surprises, aren't you?" She looked up at him as he pushed her inside.

It was early, but the place was already crowded. They sat at a small table, telling stories over cocktails. Jonathan taught her to play the Celebrity Twin game and she laughed as they assigned famous faces to everyone in the bar. His playful nature was as intoxicating at the martini in front of her. She couldn't remember when she'd laughed more or felt more at ease with a man. With a discerning eye, she secretly tried to assign him a celebrity twin. _Now if George Clooney and Paul Newman had a baby…_

"How exactly did you find this place?" She asked, surveying the patrons seated around them.

"C'mon, I can't give away all my secrets."

"The pizzeria hidden inside a convenience store? A bar appearing out of nowhere behind a strip mall? What's next?"

"How 'bout a late night swim? Surely all those Beverly Hills homes have pools. We could sneak in and take a dip."

"Just what I need. Arrested for B & E before I go under the knife."

"I promise we won't break anything. We'll just enter, get in a few laps, and be gone. No one will ever know."

"Somehow I get the feeling you're not kidding."

"Always trust your gut." He winked.

"I have a new game for you," Jennifer said, taking a sip of her martini.

"Does it involve the gypsy?"

"No, not this time."

"Damn!" He snapped his fingers. "That gypsy's pretty sexy, but go ahead."

"Alright. This is a silly little game that my girlfriends and I used to play when we went out together. It's called Dump, Do, or Date. Ever heard of it?"

Jonathan gave her a look.

"No, of course you haven't. Well, the object of the game is to name three famous people. The other person has to decide who they'd dump right of the bat, who they'd _do_ a la one-night stand, and who they'd like to have a long term relationship with—the date part. You have to give a reason for each, but you want to try to come up with three really good ones so the other person is stumped. For example, if I said Katharine Hepburn, Bette Davis, and Grace Kelly you'd say…"

"Oh that's too easy. I'd dump Bette Davis—too controlling. I do Grace Kelly—she's gorgeous. I'd date Ms. Hepburn."

"Really?" Jennifer pondered his response. "I would've thought that you'd date Grace Kelly."

"You underestimate the power that redheads have over me." Another playful wink was cast her way. "Okay, now it's my turn." He rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his chin as if in deep thought. "Question. How many times have you been stumped?"

She raised her glass and took another sip of her martini. "Never."

"Really?" He sat quiet for a moment. "All right, Ms. Edwards, here are your choices. Curly, Larry and Moe. Please take your time." He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head just like he'd done at the pizza joint. His smile said it all and Jennifer laughed out loud, shaking her head in protest.

"Now wait a minute! No fictional characters."

"Oh no! You said famous people—not real people. You can't change the rules in the middle of the game. And I bet I could ask every person in this bar who they are and they'd know. So, Ms. Edwards, I ask you again. Curly, Larry and Moe."

Jennifer shook her head and tried not to smile. She raised her hand toward the bar and hollered, "Check, please!"

XXXXXXXXXX

The ICU waiting room was quiet as they made their way through to the visitation area. They'd just made it in time. Jonathan slowly pushed Jennifer down to the end of the ICU corridor. Just before making the corner around the curtain, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and squeezed his hand tenderly.

"Hey, Max. How are you doing tonight? I brought you a visitor. This is Jennifer. Remember, I told you we'd be by to see you earlier today." Jonathan sat down on the edge of the bed and reached for his hand. Jennifer rolled up next to them and patted the top of Max's hand.

"Hello Max. I am so happy to finally meet you. Jonathan's told me so much about you. It truly is a pleasure." Suddenly, her voice cracked. Jennifer was surprised by the emotion that she felt—it caught her totally off guard. Max was very close to what she imagined him to be like. Looking back at Jonathan, it was obvious how much this man meant to him. Watching the way he sat on the edge of the bed holding Max's hand, she was touched by Jonathan's compassion for his elderly friend.

They spent the next several minutes filling him in on all the characters they'd seen at the bar. Jonathan was a great story teller and their ten minutes with Max were gone in no time. Though he hated to leave him, he stood up and placed his hand lovingly on Max's forehead.

"Listen, I'm gonna take this pretty lady out to a late supper so I won't be back tonight. But I will call up here first thing in the morning to see how you're doing, okay? Remember, behave yourself and no flirting with the nurses. They're here to work, not entertain."

Jennifer squeezed Max's hand once more. "I'm so happy to have met you Max. I hope we can see a lot of each other."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Let's eat. I bet you're starved." He said once they were on the road.

"Jonathan, I can tell how special Max is to you. Thank you for taking me to meet him. It means a lot to me."

"He's all the family I have. That man has been so many things to me. A parent, a brother, a best friend, a therapist…a bookie." He smiled. "I hate to think where I'd be right now if it hadn't been for Maxwell L. Brennan."

"What's the L stand for?" She asked.

"Luck." He winked.

"Well, he's very lucky to have you."

"We're lucky we have each other." He gave her hand a squeeze. "So, let's talk about food. What's your take on Chinese?"

"I adore Chinese."

"Well, I have an idea. I'd like to pick some up and take it with us. Would that be alright? The bar was kind of loud and noisy. I'd really like to go somewhere where we can talk."

"I'd love that."

He let go of her hand and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He scrolled through his list of numbers while carefully maneuvering the car along the downtown streets.

"Hello, Tam? This is Jonathan Hart. I'd like to place an order to go."

Jennifer glanced around, trying to get her bearings. The scenery looked familiar, but then it didn't. She was completely turned around and had no idea where they were going.

"Is this the way to your apartment?" She asked.

"Nope." He answered, concentrating on the road.

"But I thought we we're going back to your place?"

"Nope." He answered in the same, flat tone.

She gave him a confused, curious look. "You're planning on driving me out to some dark, deserted road to have your way with me then, is that it?"

"Of course not." He paused. "The road will be very well lit. I like to be able to see my victims." He gave her his signature wink.

The car continued to wind its way through the quiet streets away from downtown. It was dark, and Jennifer had absolutely no idea where they were. It appeared to be a residential area, but she couldn't really make out any of the signs.

"It's so dark out here." She finally commented.

"Well darkness is necessary."

"Why?"

"Makes sneaking into someone's pool much easier."

She gave him another look. "You're not going to tell me where we're going are you?"

Suddenly, she felt the car slowing down. Jonathan turned into a driveway on her right. The headlights of the car bounced off a large white iron gate. In the center of it, a single scroll letter… _H_.

"This is it." He announced, rolling down his window. He reached in the ashtray and retrieved a small silver key, which fit perfectly inside the security box outside his window. Slowly, the gate opened up and Ava cruised through. They drove up the winding drive. She could tell the estate was vast and heavily wooded.

"This isn't another one of your gas stations is it?" She asked.

"No, this is better. Much better."

They rounded a bend and then she saw it. The headlights of the car revealed a magnificent home.

"Is this your house?" She asked.

"No. But I wish it was." Jonathan pulled up to the entrance, parking in the large motor court. He helped Jennifer into her chair and pushed her along a cobblestone path leading to the back of the house.

"This place is amazing. Who lives here?"

"No one. It's empty."

"And you just happen to have a key?"

"Well, it belonged to a buddy of mine. Have you ever heard of a man named Gavin Everett?"

Jennifer thought for a moment. "It sounds very familiar."

"He was a screen-writer and a very close friend. He died about eighteen months ago."

"Oh Jonathan, I am so sorry."

"It was quite a shock. He was a great guy. Such a sad ending. Gavin had just gotten engaged to this young actress. She grew up here in Los Angeles and told him that one day she wanted to live in a fancy house up in the hills. He bought this house for her as a wedding present from the original owner. Some eccentric old guy lived here for years. Well, he was killed before he ever married the actress. He has one grown son from his first marriage and naturally he inherited the estate. But he immediately sold it. Back to the original owner. Evidently, the old man deeply regretted selling it in the first place."

"So why doesn't he live here now?"

"Too feeble. Gavin's brother told me that he now lives with his daughter out in Brentwood, I think. Says he's forbidden the family to sell the place until after his death."

"That is some story." Jennifer paused. "But you still didn't tell me how you came to possess the keys to the kingdom."

"We came here together to look at the place before he bought it. Like I said, he was one of my closest friends. He had two sets of keys and he gave one to me. He said, 'You hold onto these in case I get really drunk some night and lock myself out.' I know I should have turned them over to his son but it was the last face-to-face conversation we had. These keys were the last thing he ever gave me. I guess I just wanted to keep them as a reminder."

Jennifer was once again amazed at the depth of his caring. She reached out for his hand. "Well, I think he'd be happy that you held onto them." She paused a moment. "Can we go inside?"

"No, all the locks were changed after the old man bought it back. But, they didn't change the gate lock. The courtyard and landscape is just so peaceful. I thought you might enjoy taking it in, along with our dinner."

Jennifer held the plaid blanket on her lap while Jonathan jogged back to the car to retrieve their take-out. It would be their second picnic that day. She gazed up at the sky and chuckled to herself. Even if she were to custom order an evening, she didn't think it could be this perfect. She turned around when she heard music coming from the house. Jonathan approached her carrying a silver champagne bucket and two glasses.

"And just where did you get that?" She asked.

"You know businessmen and their sources." He smiled.

"Where is that music coming from?"

"Ahh, ambient lighting provided by the heavens, ambient music provided by Ava."

"You're not gonna leave your car running the whole time we're out here, are you?"

"She only burns a gallon of gas an hour, sitting idle like that. Anyway, it's no big deal. Besides, you and I may want to dance later." He smiled sweetly as he pulled the cork from the bottle.

Jennifer was totally captivated by him. He was so intelligent, so charming, and so funny. She'd never laughed so hard. He told the best stories—especially the ones about Max. _Now there's a character_ , she thought. _Max is someone I definitely want to get to know better._

"Max looked good. Much better than I thought he would."

"I can't wait for you to really meet him. When he's fully awake I mean."

"Did Dr. Walsh give you any indication of when that might be?"

"No. But if he knew how attractive the nurses were, then he'd awake now."

"Max likes the ladies, huh?"

"Oh yeah. One in particular—Lady Luck. Remind me to call his bookie tonight. Max will want me to check a bet for him."

"So what's your game? I mean, are you a poker player?"

"Well, I have a regular poker game I'm in on. But I haven't played since Max's illness. Do you play?"

"I played a little in college. I'm not very good. Maybe you could show me some pointers."

"Somehow, Ms. Edwards, I don't believe a word of that. I'm sure you could smoke me in five card."

Jennifer had to smile. _God, how can he read me so well?_ "Well, you know what they say. You can't con a con." She gave him a wink.

"Oh really? Is that's what they say. Shall we play 'Three Things' then?"

"What's that? Another game?"

"It's a game to test your poker face. You tell me three things about yourself, but only two of them are true. I have to try to guess which one is the lie."

"Okay this sounds interesting. But you go first."

He thought a moment. "Alright. I've been arrested. I've been mugged. I have a tattoo." Jonathan raised his glass to his lips, never taking his eyes off her. His facial expression never changed.

"Hmmm, this is going to be harder than I thought. Well, you seem to be a very honest man, so I don't think you've ever done anything to get arrested. You're hardly the type to hang out in shady spots so I doubt you've been mugged. And as far as the tattoo? You're just too classy for that. I say they're all false."

"Sorry, but two are true. Try again." He showed no emotion.

Jennifer flashed a big smile his way—but it didn't work. He gave no clues.

"Okay, I'm gonna say that you don't have a tattoo. Is that right?"

"Yeah, you're right. No tattoos. But I came really close to getting one once. All my buddies in college had them. I just couldn't think of anything important enough to have forever imprinted on my skin."

"Okay, my turn." She thought a moment, quietly gazing up at the sky. "Alright. I've been arrested. I've been mugged. I have a tattoo." She casually picked up her drink, continuing to hold his gaze.

"Now wait a minute!. You can't use the same ones I used."

"No, no, no. You never said that." Jennifer shook her head. "You can't _change the rules_ in the middle of game, remember? Those are my three."

"Well, I am positive that you do not have a tattoo. I'm guessing that you're the typical fiery redhead, so I'm sure you've been arrested on more than one occasion. And with that body, I'd bet you've had your share of muggers as well."

"So is that your final answer then?"

"Yep. You don't have a tattoo."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you are wrong. Try again."

"Oh, c'mon, you're lying. You don't have a tattoo. Do you?"

"You still haven't answered my question correctly."

"What kind of tattoo? Where is it?"

"Nope. Not telling, not showing, until you answer correctly."

"Okay then I'll have to say that you've never been mugged. Is that right?"

"Sorry, sir, but you lose. I've never been arrested."

"I don't believe you."

"Well that's your problem."

Jonathan smiled and shook his head. "Well, you may think I lost, but I think I won."

"How so?"

"I just proved that you're the far superior poker player. Your con game is way better than mine."

"I've picked up a few tricks along the way."

"So tell me about this tattoo."

"Hmm, let's see. I was with two of my college girlfriends and we lost a bet to some guys we used to go drinking with. And as payment, they made us get tattoos."

"And when you say college, you mean?"

"William and Mary."

"Really?" He gave an impressed nod.

"If it's good enough for George Washington..." She shrugged.

"So you got inked up because you lost a bet?"

"We had a class with these three fraternity brothers. They were a lot of fun. Big partiers, heavy drinkers—and notorious pranksters. The night before the final, we went to have a beer with them. We were all going to study together but the beer came first, of course. Well, this one guy said they would score higher on the final than we would. He said that men were smarter and just naturally performed better on tests than women. Of course, we weren't going to let them get away with that. So I suggested a friendly wager. We sat there for a while, trying to come up with something good to bet. They decided that the losers had to get tattoos—with the winners selecting what and where. We agreed, and decided that the six of us had to stay up all night, no studying whatsoever, and take the final without cracking a book. That would truly be the ultimate test of who retained what information over the course of the semester. We went back to their frat house and played Spades until about six in the morning. Our final was at eight o'clock—so obviously, no time left to really study. We all took the final and waited a week for our grades to be posted. My girlfriends and I scored a collective ninety-four. But the guys aced it—perfect scores across the board. So, they drove us down to this pipe shop called Mother Earth late one night and picked out our tattoos. They watched the whole thing."

"They aced the test?"

"Well, that's the 'con' part of the story. Little did we know that one of their fraternity brothers was the TA for that particular professor. They had a copy of the test. They knew all the answers."

"You got taken on that deal."

"Yes I did. I no longer bet for anything other than cold, hard American currency."

"So what is it? A little flower or something?"

"Guess. What kind of tattoo do you think it is?"

"You want me to guess? There are a zillion things. You have to give me at least a hint to get me in the general direction."

"Okay, one hint. You and I have already had a discussion about it—at the bar."

Jonathan thought for a moment. "I have no idea."

Jennifer looked down for a moment. When her eyes met his again, she was trying to hold back a smile. "The Three Stooges. They made each of us get one of the faces of the Stooges."

"They didn't." He looked at her with a skeptical eye.

"They did. We've each got a different Stooge on our derriere."

"You're making this up."

"Scouts' Honor." She raised her right hand, waiving a pair of chopsticks in the air.

Jonathan shook his head with a grin. "So who is it? Curly, Larry, or Moe?"

"Well, I didn't get to pick. The guys decided that I should be Larry—since we both have red hair."

"So you expect me to believe that you are sitting here on Larry's face right this minute?"

Jennifer laughed out loud. "Well, I never thought of it quite that way, but I guess I do spend an awful lot of time on that man's face." She gave him a naughty little grin.

They laughed and talked and emptied the bottle of wine. Jennifer could not remember a more magical evening—a more magical day. It was crazy when she considered that she'd started the day in DC and was ending it in Los Angeles with him. What would Stephen say? Another lecture of mixing business with pleasure? Jonathan noticed her sudden pensive look.

"What are you thinking about?"

"It's strange how I woke up on one side of map and now I'm here with you."

"Yeah, that's pretty wild when you think about it."

"Isn't it crazy how you and I came to meet? I mean, there are hospitals and elevators all over the world. You and I just happened to be in the same hospital, at the same elevator, at the same time."

"No, it's not crazy. You're my silver lining." He responded with a softness in his eyes.

"Silver lining?"

"It's something I learned about in my support group at the hospital. The psychologist wanted us to be focused on the positive that could come from our current tragic circumstances. She said we may not find the silver lining for days, months, or years but that it would come, if we embraced the possibility that it did existed. I stepped into an elevator and pressed a button. The doors opened and boom—there you were."

Jennifer felt her heart do a little flip. "Well, I don't know about silver lining. Bronze, maybe," She laughed. But in his eyes, she could tell he wasn't joking.

He moved closer to her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She tried to take a deep breath, but it was as if the air around them had stopped. She could feel the strength of his hand as it lingered on the back of her neck for a moment. Then with a touch both firm and gentle, he gripped her shoulders and lowered her gently back on the blanket. He lay on one side facing her; his strong arm supporting her head. He didn't speak, but lightly ran his finger down along her jaw.

"Now this is staring." He looked into her autumn eyes.

"I had a feeling you knew the difference."

"You are so lovely." He whispered.

He leaned down and kissed her. Only this time, it wasn't the gentle, tender kiss they'd shared in the elevator earlier that day. This time, he didn't hold back and Jennifer felt her body respond to it immediately. His kisses traveled from her lips to her cheek as he cradled her head in his hand. He found her earlobe, giving it a playful nibble, before moving on to her neck. As much as she hated to break the intensity of the moment, she couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm sorry, but that tickles."

"Aha! The secret spot. I'll make note of that for later." He whispered.

They lay still and quiet for several moments, her head on his arm. If she could freeze one moment in time, this would be it. Lying with him she felt safe; protected. She imagined what it would be like to start and end each day with him lying beside her—to have his name be the first and last sound she uttered. _Stop it, Jennifer. You don't even know this man._

She closed her eyes and listened as Ava played one of her favorite songs. She hummed along as she gently rubbed the top of Jonathan's hand with her thumb, ignoring her own request to slow down.

"You like this song?" He asked, surprised.

"Yes, it's one of my favorites."

"But it's older than you are." He laughed.

"It's still a great song. Great to dance to."

"Well, let's dance then."

It was Jennifer's turn to laugh. "Right. Now you're good, but not that good. 'The heart is willing, but the legs are weak,' remember?"

He sat up and looked down at her. "Do you trust me?" That intense expression returned once more.

She studied his eyes. There was nothing but trust in them. "Yes, Jonathan, I trust you." She couldn't resist saying his name. It felt so good on her lips.

"Hold on," He whispered. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled her over onto his chest.

"Now this is exactly why Baptists don't believe in dancing. Look what it leads to."

"Shhh," He whispered. "Give me your hand."

He extended one arm to the side, taking her hand. He slid his other down around her waist. They lay together in a dancer's hold. Slowly he rocked her back and forth, humming the tune from the stereo. Jennifer rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. She could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. The music and the wine played with tricks with her conscience and for the duration of the seventies love song that echoed from Ava, she forget who she was.

A tangle of thoughts weaved through Jonathan's mind as he held her. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. So many feelings—new feelings. He wanted to hold her like that forever because one night would never be enough. Being with her was like a truth serum and he couldn't hold back. He was falling in love with this woman. This beautiful, amazing, woman.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was late when she swiped the card in the door. Jennifer was surprised when she wheeled herself around and saw Jonathan still standing outside her suite.

"Aren't you coming in?" She asked.

"No, I'm not." It was the most difficult statement he'd ever made in his life.

Jennifer didn't understand. "Are you alright?" She asked, rolling back to the door.

He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'm fine."

She reached for his shirttail, untucked and wrinkled around his waist, and gave it a playful tug.

"Well then, get in here!"

"Jennifer…" His voice resumed a serious tone as he grabbed her hand. She was confused by the change in him.

"What's wrong?" She asked, scanning his eyes for some clue to his sudden change.

"Nothing's wrong." He said. He stepped into the suite and closed the door behind him.

"Then I don't understand."

"Please don't make this any harder on me." He could tell from her expression that she still didn't understand.

"I don't want you to go." Her voice was just a whisper. "Let's order some coffee and talk. I'm not tired."

"Jennifer, I want to stay. God, more than anything, I want to be here with you. But I can't. I won't."

She shook her head. "But I thought…" She started.

It was his turn to silence her, as he softly pressed his finger across her lips.

"Listen to me," His husky voice wrapped around her. He stared into her soulful eyes, feeling as they peeled away the layers of his most private self. "I have tripped in my life and I have stumbled but I have never fallen. I've always been able to catch myself and keep going. But not anymore." He gently traced the outline of her lips with his thumb. "I'm falling, Jennifer, for the first time in my life. I'm falling in love with you. And I want to do this the right way."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan stepped off the elevator and turned toward the double doors of ICU. Glancing at the large clock on the wall, he knew the last visitation period had come and gone. Maybe luck would be on his side and that cute, young nurse would still be on duty. He pressed the buzzer and peered through the window. He couldn't see anyone inside.

"May I help you sir?" A sharp voice came from behind.

"Yes ma'am. I'm so sorry, and I know it's after hours, but if I could just go in and see my friend, Max Brennan for two minutes, I'd be so appreciative." Jonathan flashed his winning smile.

"I'm sorry, sir. That is completely out of the question." Her tone was firm.

Jonathan looked at her name tag. He would have to try a different approach.

"You're Dolores, right? Aren't you the head nurse on this wing?" He asked with innocent eyes.

"I'm Dolores but I'm not the head nurse. You must be thinking of Jean."

"No, I'm sure they said Dolores," He shook his head.

"Who are they, sir?" She asked.

"Oh, several surgeons in the elevator earlier today. I rode down with them after the five-thirty visitation. They were arguing about the best nurse in the ICU and I know they said Dolores. I saw your name tag and naturally, I assumed you were the head nurse." Jonathan smiled sweetly.

The nurse paused for a moment before glancing at the clock on the wall. "Two minutes." She whispered with a smile.

He quietly approached the hospital bed and sat down on the edge. He observed Max's face and the bits of stubble dotting his chin and neck. He stared at his hands and arms and the trail of tubes and wires still in place. He carefully slipped his hand under Max's and held it firmly. There was so much he wanted to tell him. But the guilt he'd fought hard to control reared its ugly head. How could he share the joy he was feeling when Max felt anything but? He'd pulled away from Jennifer's hotel with lightning speed, eager to share the details of his evening with his best friend. But now, seeing him lying alone in ICU just made him feel ashamed. He wanted to tell him everything—that for the first time in his life, he was in love. For the first time in his life, he wanted someone more than he wanted something. For the first time in his life, he realized that he could be broken by a woman twelve years his junior. He sat in silence for fifteen minutes, listening to the familiar sounds of the unit while his heart pounded inside his chest. A nurse he didn't recognize appeared around the edge of the curtain and he knew it was time to go. He gave Max's hand a gentle squeeze, and left without saying a word.

XXXXXXXXXX

A knock at the door caused her to jump. She stared groggily at the clock. _How can it be nine-thirty_? She quickly grabbed her robe as she slid out of bed and into the wheelchair.

"Just a minute!" She rolled over and opened the door to her suite.

"Good Morning, Ms. Edwards. These just arrived for you." The bellboy held an enormous arrangement of orchids.

"Thank you. Just put them over there." She pointed.

The bellboy entered and placed them in the center of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. Jennifer found her purse and reached inside for a tip.

"Oh no, Mrs. Edwards, that's already been taken care of. And there's one other thing." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a card.

"Thank you," Jennifer replied, taking the card from him.

"Would you like some coffee and scones perhaps?

"Yes, that would be great."

"Regular or decaf, ma'am?"

"Regular will be fine."

"My pleasure. I'll have a tray sent immediately." He gave her a nod as he closed the door behind him.

She wheeled herself over in front of the fireplace and up to the coffee table. It was the most exquisite arrangement of orchids she'd ever seen. She looked down at the card in her lap. It was simply addressed with nothing but her first initial. Her heart was pounding as she opened the envelope and she laughed hysterically when she saw the front of the card. It was a black and white photograph of three men dressed in snappy golf outfits: Curly, Larry and Moe. The inside of the card contained no printed verse, just these words in his hand:

 _I'm crazy about you._

 _Love,_

 _J._

For a man, his writing was lovely. Very neat, with concise lettering. _What am I doing?_ She thought to herself. _He's just sent me an amazing arrangement of orchids and I'm analyzing his handwriting!_

 _XXXXXXXXXX_

She was just about to help herself to her second scone when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Good Morning, Darling!"

"Good Morning, Pa," She replied, trying to hide the slight disappointment in her voice.

"I assume that you made it in alright—no problems to speak of then?"

"No, everything's fine."

"How is the hotel? Comfortable?"

"It's absolutely beautiful. I actually feel guilty for staying here. It's really more than I need."

"Nonsense. You enjoy it. Now listen, I know you talked about meeting me at the airport when I arrive and taking a cab together back to the hotel. But really, Darling, I will just meet you there. You've got things to do at the hospital, and I don't want you to tire yourself before surgery. Alright then?"

She knew it was no good to argue. "That'll be fine."

"Are you sure you're alright, my dear? You don't sound like yourself."

Jennifer smiled, glancing over at the orchids. "I couldn't be better."

"Well, I'm happy to hear it, Darling. Listen, I must go but I will call you when I land."

"Alright." She paused and looked down at her pinky, giving her ring a twist.

"Pa?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"I love you."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan made it through his morning correspondence in record time, happily humming a Billy Joel tune that was firmly planted in his head. Looking at his watch, he figured she'd probably received the flowers. He wanted so badly to call her, but couldn't afford to be late to his morning telecom. It would be too hard to hang up and he didn't want to be rushed when he called. He pressed the button on his intercom.

"Could you come in here for a sec?"

Within seconds, his office door opened. "Yes, Mr. Hart?"

"Listen, Deanne. Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Well, I guess so." She answered, somewhat confused.

"If a man sent you a bouquet of orchids, what would you think?"

"Well, first of all, I'd have to pick myself up off the floor. I never get flowers."

"No, really. I mean, what would you think about his _intentions_?

"I guess I would think that he was serious about me—really serious."

Jonathan couldn't help smiling. "That's what I thought."

He stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and swinging it over his arm. "I'm going to meet with the gentlemen at Futura. They've got the link ready to go with Carlisle. If everything goes according to plan, this deal will be closed by Happy Hour."

"Good luck, sir."

"Thanks."

XXXXXXXXXX

It took Jennifer's eyes a moment to adjust as the lights in the conference room came back on.

"So, Jennifer, now you've seen the computer models. Any questions? Concerns?" Dr. Prescott asked.

"Is the fact that the tumor is located under my spine make it anymore dangerous than if it were located on the outside?"

"That's an excellent question. Tumors like yours don't normally present themselves in that manner. I wouldn't say that it's more dangerous. It's more a case of increasing the length of time in the surgery itself. We just have to dig a little deeper to get the pearl from the oyster."

"I'd hardly compare my tumor to a pearl, Dr. Prescott." Jennifer gave him a look.

"But to a surgeon, that's how we see it. It's what we're after. We want to get it really badly. And not just a piece of it—we want the whole thing." Dr. Walsh responded.

Jennifer thought about this for a moment. "Well, when you put it like that I guess it does make sense." She forced a smile.

"Okay, I think we're done here. You all set for tonight?" Dr. Walsh asked.

Jennifer was confused. "Ah, tonight? What's tonight?" She looked around the table in confusion.

"Meeting with the Board—the media. Remember?"

"Oh, yes. No, I didn't forget. I just didn't realize it would be tonight. I thought we would finish up here and then meet with Board. I didn't think it would be in the evening." Jennifer tried to sound enthusiastic, but she did not want to give up an evening with Jonathan to shake hands with all the Board members. Why can't they just meet with me now?

"If you like, I can pick you up from your hotel." Dr. Walsh offered.

"No, I can meet you back here. It's no big deal, really."

XXXXXXXXXX

It was close to six when Jonathan arrived back at his office. Deanne wasn't at her desk. Guessing she'd clocked out for the day, he made his way to check his own desk one last time. He couldn't believe the day. He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was get out of there and get to her. Between meetings, a luncheon and two quick trips to the hospital, he hadn't had a chance to call her all day. Reading through his phone messages, he smiled. There were two, both from Jennifer. _I'll call her in the car. Maybe she's ready to get some dinner._ He turned to leave just as Deanne walked in.

"There you are. I was afraid I'd missed you." She said.

"I thought you were gone?"

"No, I went down to sign for these." She handed him a courier's envelope.

"What this?" He asked, opening the package.

"The tickets, I guess."

"What tickets?"

"Very funny. Now you better get going because you're going to be late."

Jonathan shook his head. "Really, Deanne. I don't know what you're talking about."

"You never called Bill back, did you?" She asked.

His mind ran through several days of memos and stopped when it came to Bill's.

"Damn it! No, I said I was going to, but I forgot. It completely slipped my mind."

"Oh, I knew I should have called him myself."

"No, this is entirely my fault. I told you I'd handle it and I dropped the ball." He looked down at the tickets in his hand.

"I'm sorry Mr. Hart. Do you want me to call his office and see if he's still there?"

"No, that's alright. I'll try to get him on my way out." Jonathan glanced down at his watch. "I guess I better run home and change."

"Do you want me to call Ms. Kirkley for you and let her know what's going on?"

"Ms. Kirkley?"

"Well, yes. I assumed that since there are two tickets…"

Jonathan walked backwards toward the elevators. "No, that won't be necessary. In fact, you can remove her name from your Rolodex—permanently.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer answered the phone in her suite on the second ring.

"Hi." His voice was soft and sexy.

"Hi yourself." She laughed and felt her heart do that little back flip once again

"Did you, by chance, get a breakfast bouquet?"

"Yes I did and they're absolutely gorgeous. Thank you."

"How did the meeting with Dr. Walsh go?"

"Well, actually, that's why I called your office. I have to meet with the Board—tonight."

Jonathan felt his heart sink. "You're kidding. I thought you were doing all that this afternoon?"

"So did I. I'm being presented to the media. Anyway, that's why I called. Would you, kind sir, be so noble as to escort me to the ball?"

Jonathan looked down at the courier's envelope on the passenger's seat.

"You know, I've been in meetings all day long without a break. I was just walking out the door when my secretary handed me this package. I have to make an appearance at a business function—a celebration of sorts. I wanted to take you with me." He couldn't mask the disappointment in his voice.

"Well, that's alright. Look, you go rub elbows with your bigwigs, I'll go shake hands with the Board. Dr. Walsh assured me it wouldn't take long. How 'bout I meet up with you at your event? Then, after you've toasted your success, we can come back to my suite for some room service."

Jonathan smiled. "You're wonderful, you know that?"

"I know." She answered playfully.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan was surprised to find Archer standing next to the valet stand when he arrived at the Four Seasons hotel.

"And just where the hell have you been?" He shook his finger at Jonathan.

"Don't start. I need two things: a Scotch and a redhead."

"The Scotch I can handle. The redhead? You're on your own."

"Just a low-key soiree, right?" Jonathan pulled on his jacket and adjusted his tie.

"Not quite. You know Texans and their hell-raisin' shindigs. It looks like Southfork in there. All they're missing are bales of hay and Boss Hogg in a Colonel Sanders suit. And the funny thing is they think they've outsmarted us."

"Once we bring Richard Osbourne outta retirement to run this thing, they'll realize the joke's on them." He patted Archer's shoulder.

The two men walked quickly through the elegantly appointed hotel lobby and into the ballroom. He was instantly surrounded by guests, extending handshakes and words of congratulations. Making his way across the room, he was a man possessed; the corporate hunter circling his kill. It wasn't about money anymore. He had more than he could ever spend in a lifetime. Two lifetimes even. It had become a game now. A high stakes version of Pin-The-Tail-On-The-Donkey. He'd taken over so many of the struggling companies that Wall Street experts had deemed financial train wrecks, only to turn them around in a matter of months. He had the Midas touch, and could place the donkey's tail in the perfect position every time.

"Diane, sweet Diane…" Jonathan planted a kiss on Archer's wife's cheek.

"You've done it again, Mr. H. It's almost shameful how good you are." She whispered.

"Let's keep that under our hat." He winked.

"I brought my ten gallon just in case." She winked back. "Flying solo again tonight?"

"Just temporarily. She'll be here any minute."

"That little blonde? What's her name? Allison?" She teased, though she knew full well the name of his most recent lady friend.

"Angela. No. I'm not seeing her anymore."

"Her time expired, Dear." Archer gave his wife a knowing look.

"So you have a new friend then? Anyone I know?" She took a sip of Chardonnay.

"No. In fact, I just recently met her myself. She's a patient of the doctor that's caring for Max."

"Really?"

"We met at the hospital. She's undergoing surgery the day after tomorrow."

"What type of surgery?"

"She has a spinal tumor. They're removing it with some new high tech procedure. It's kind of a big deal. In fact, she's at a press conference right now. She'll be here in a little while."

"Well I can't wait to meet her."

"She's fabulous. You're gonna love her."

Jonathan continued around the room, shaking hands and offering kind words to everyone. The key players from both the New York and Chicago offices had made the trip, and Jonathan was happy to see some familiar faces. Everyone had a story of some sort to share with him, but all he could do was watch the door. There was only person he was interested in conversing with and she hadn't shown up yet. After exhausting his smile and well wishes, he approached the bar. He'd just ordered his second Scotch when he felt a hand brush against him. Turning, his smile returned as he locked eyes with her.

"Ms. Edwards." He gave a slight bow.

"Mr. Hart."

"You look radiant this evening."

"And you look very dapper."

They held each other's gaze for several seconds. Jonathan held up one finger then turned back to the bartender.

"One extra dry martini please. Two olives." He turned back to her with a grin.

"You remembered. I'm impressed."

"And how were the members of the press? Well behaved I hope."

"It was quick and painless, just as Dr. Walsh promised."

"Good. Let's find a table so we can talk. I've been informed that I have to say a few words. After that we can get outta here."

A waiter carried their drinks as Jonathan pushed her through the crowd. It took them several minutes to make it to the table, as he stopped to introduce Jennifer to all his associates. Everyone was polite, but Jennifer could see the confounded look on many faces and she knew exactly what they were thinking.

They found a table in the back away from the dance floor, but not far enough away from the steady stream of people who wanted some face time with Jonathan. More smiles. More handshakes. Jennifer watched as he interacted with them, noticing how he was just as relaxed in business as he was with her. There was no pretense about him whatsoever. And it was one of the things she liked most about him. After a half hour of swapping stories with colleagues, Archer approached him with a nod.

"Time to make the big speech, Chief."

"Jennifer, are you okay?" Jonathan asked.

"I'm fine. Go take care of business." She smiled.

"Fire up the hot-rod we'll be on the road in just a few." He gave a reassuring nod, turning to follow Archer up the podium near the dance floor.

"Hey Nineteen, do you think she remembers the Queen of Soul?" Archer whispered with a sly grin, quoting what he knew to be one of Jonathan's favorite Steely Dan songs.

"She's thirty-six, Arch."

"No way. She looks way younger." Archer paused. "I didn't realize she was…"

"In a wheelchair?"

"Well, yes…"

"Does it matter?" Jonathan turned to him with a sharp look—one that caught Archer off guard.

"Of course it doesn't matter. You know me better than that."

She'd only been alone a few seconds when a handsome man sat down beside her.

"You must be Ms. Edwards."

"Yes. Jennifer Edwards."

"Alan Fournier. I work with Jonathan."

"Nice to meet you." She extended her hand to him.

"Jonathan mentioned that you're having surgery the day after tomorrow. You're undergoing the new procedure with Dr. Walsh, correct?"

"Yes I am."

"I read about it in the paper. Very exciting stuff. And what a coincidence that Jonathan just happens to own both the lab and the hospital that's performing your surgery. What a small world."

"Jonathan owns the lab?" The words left her mouth as a whisper.

"Well, we purchased a number of labs in a mass buyout about a year ago. And now we own a total of nine hospitals in four different states. Hence, the reason for this little bash."

Jonathan cleared his throat and stepped to the microphone. "Good Evening." He scanned the room until his eyes finally found hers. He knew instantly that this would be a night he would never forget. For a moment, it was as though they were the only two people in the entire ballroom. In that same moment, her facial expression changed and he knew something was terribly wrong. The happy, carefree look he'd observed on her face just moments before was now replaced with one he didn't recognize. _What the hell?_ He took a deep breath, his eyes never once leaving Jennifer's face.

"I want to thank everyone on both sides of the fence for making this merger possible. I know this is a proud night for all involved." Jonathan's voice was barely above a whisper. In fact, he had no idea what words of praise were falling from his mouth. He would not remember this speech. He would not remember these guests. The only thing he would remember was that her face reflected nothing but hurt. As he spoke his final sentences, he slowly watched her wheel herself out the ballroom doors. Jonathan stepped away from the microphone, completely oblivious to the sound of applause. Somehow, he made his way through the crowded ballroom and into the lobby of the Four Seasons. Through the glass entry, he could see Jennifer wheeling out the main doors. He ran through the lobby and to the main entrance, having no idea what had happened or what he was going to say to her.

"Jennifer, wait!" He called out.

She turned around, glaring at him with glassy eyes.

"You're quite skilled in the element of surprise, aren't you Mr. Hart?"

"What's wrong? Why are you leaving?"

"You weren't' lying when you said you liked to get involved in your philanthropic endeavors."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I think you know. You drive a Porsche, live in the million dollar apartment, and you make yourself feel important by buying a girl a get-out-of-chair-free card."

"I wasn't trying to buy anything."

Jennifer cut him off. "I was so stupid to think that this was really going to go somewhere. But I'm just another feather in your corporate cap."

Jonathan felt as though his insides had been frozen. He had to make her understand.

"What feather? What cap? I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Miss, is everything alright?" A young valet approached them.

"Would you please call a taxi to take me back to my hotel?"

"Please don't. Let me take you back," Jonathan begged.

The valet could see that he'd interrupted something intense. It was obvious that Jennifer was upset. He walked toward her and looked into her eyes with a concerned expression.

"If you'd like to wait inside, I can have a cab here in just a couple of minutes." The valet offered.

"Thank you." She glared at Jonathan again before rolling her back into the lobby. On her way, she passed Archer Martin. He spoke to her, but she made no acknowledgement of his statement.

"Mr. H, you okay?" Archer called from the lobby door.

"I don't know." He ran a hand through his hair, glancing back toward the main doors.

"What's going on?"

"Something happened in there, I don't know what. She won't talk to me. She was fine one minute then she stormed out the next."

"Just let her go, Johnny Boy. This is your night. A big night for H.I." Archer tried to joke with him, but Jonathan shot him a look.

"You want me to try and talk to her?" He spoke apologetically.

"You can try. But she's called for a cab to take her back to her hotel."

"Wait here." Archer turned back to the lobby.

Without thinking, Jonathan reached inside his jacket pocket for a cigarette, forgetting that he'd quit smoking three years before. He was about to track down a smoke from one of the young valets when Diane appeared.

"Jonathan?" She spoke with a confused tone.

"Archer's inside."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. She just left. I went up to the stage to make my little speech and when I did, she left."

"Did you have an argument?"

"No. We were planning to leave as soon as I was done. I was away from her for literally sixty seconds when she stormed out."

"Was she alone?"

"No, she was talking to Alan."

"Well, let's go ask him. Maybe he knows." She offered just as Archer returned.

"Well?" Jonathan asked.

"I looked everywhere and I can't find her."

"Let me go." Jonathan brushed passed them and headed straight for the front desk. The confusion in his mind mixed with the Scotch in his veins and he could feel an intense headache coming on.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. Have you seen a very attractive redhead? She was wearing a black dress. In a wheelchair?" He asked the woman at the main desk.

"Why yes, sir. She left through those doors," The clerk motioned to a secondary entrance and the end of the lobby.

Jonathan quickly ran through the hotel and down the corridor. He made it out the doors just in time to see the taillights of a yellow cab making its way through the parking lot. Slowly he walked back toward the ballroom, trying to decide his next move. He turned back to the main entrance, searching his jacket for his valet ticket when he heard Archer call his name.

"Any luck?"

"She left. Took a cab out the side entrance."

"Diane and I had a little chat with Alan."

"And?"

"He said they were discussing her upcoming surgery. He mentioned how he'd read about it in the paper. Then, he mentioned that you owned the lab and now the hospital. And that's when she left."

 **TBC**

 **All reviews welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

Jennifer leaned back against the headrest of the cab. She needed to feel in control. She needed a game plan. Looking down at her watch, she knew her father was already in bed. _I'll call him first thing in the morning. Then I can see about getting an early flight._ The city lights bounced around the interior of the cab, causing her mind to race. She could still see him, standing proudly before the microphone. _I should have listened to my father. He warned me about mixing business with pleasure. I should have listened._ The vehicle came to an abrupt stop and within seconds she recognized the intersection. They sat at a red light in front of the gas station and the hidden pizzeria. Feelings of anger wrestled against feelings of hurt. The light turned green, and the cab continued toward the hotel.

In the quiet confines of her suite, she lay in total darkness, wishing she could some how make it darker—a place where even shadows were afraid to drift. Closing her eyes she imagined herself floating down a blackened tunnel away from everything and everyone. Her body felt completely numb, as though she were being swallowed up by the tumor growing inside her. All the anger she'd felt as she bolted from the Four Seasons had melted away. And now she was left with unanswered questions. She thought of her mother. She always did when she found herself wrapped up in some degree of emotional confusion. Jennifer longed for the days of lying in her mother's arms. She could still remember the way her mother tucked her in each night, snuggling her close and softly smoothing her hair out over her pillow. If only she'd known then that those precious days were numbered. She'd survived much in the twenty-two years since her mother's death. She knew she'd survive this.

The warm glow that consumed her just hours before was now gone. She felt cold and empty as she reached for phone. Picking up the receiver, she began dialing then stopped. She pressed the button on the phone to cancel the call. She hesitated for a moment, and then dialed again.

"Yes, this is Jennifer Edwards. Would you please hold my calls until the morning? Thank you."

She quietly replaced the receiver, moving her hand from the phone to the clock. With a sigh of regret, she set the alarm for four. _That should be enough time to catch Pa before he leaves for BWI._ She turned on the radio and pulled a blanket up over her. She was still wearing her black dress. Closing her eyes once more, she tried to relax to the music. Though she tried to fight it, she could feel her body start to shake and the silence in the suite was replaced with the sound of her tears.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _The light of dawn was just beginning to break. The air was cool and damp, and the sky was a mixture of solemn hues. The dark blue that once defined midnight was beginning to fade as the morning light tried desperately to fight its way through the clouds. Jennifer gripped the reins tightly. She could feel the wind whipping through his mane and her hair. The pasture was like an ocean; the tall grass bending in the wind made ripples on the landscapes like soft rolling waves. She leaned down over his head, allowing her body to become one with his. She dug her heels into his sides, urging him to move faster. The rocky crag stretched out in front of her and she knew she could beat the sun if they hurried. King was swift. His muscular legs carried them quickly up the edge of the canyon. Jennifer closed her eyes, amazed at the strength of the animal beneath her. She let go of the reins and wrapped her hands securely in his thick, black mane. Just a few more seconds and they would be at the summit...and they would win. Suddenly, she felt the earth below them stop, as if they were no longer on the ground. King cried out and Jennifer felt them falling. Thousands of rocky shards penetrated her legs and back as she and King rolled over and over down the side of the cliff. They finally came to stop at the base of the ravine. The clouds overhead grew thicker, as if night were rushing back in to reclaim its place. A heavy rain began to fall and Jennifer could not see. She crawled along the rocky floor, blinded by the pelting rain, calling out for King. Where was he? She could hear her father calling out for her._

 _"Pa!" She hollered. "I'm here, Pa! We're here!" She could scarcely make out the image of her father as he slowly walked toward her. Her eyes came to focus on something in the crook of his arm—a rifle._

 _"Jennifer, what have you done?" He asked in an angry tone._

 _"I didn't mean to. We were racing the sun. I can't find him, Pa. Please help me find him."_

 _"I can't help you now. You have to do this on your own." He handed her the rifle._

 _"But I can't. I just can't!" The rain on Jennifer's cheeks was replaced with a downpour of tears. She watched as her father turned and walked away._

 _"Don't go, Pa. I can't do this by myself." Her voice trailed off and once again she was alone. She tried to stand up, but her legs were numb. The rain was beginning to slow. Using the rifle as a crutch, she pulled herself up. She could see the outline of a large gray figure in the distance._

 _"King!" She cried out. "I'm coming, King. Don't die!" She dragged herself over toward the lifeless shape of the animal. His body was hidden; covered with a rain soaked white sheet._

 _"Oh King, what have I done? I am so sorry." She could not stop the rush of tears. Her body was shaking. "Pa says I have to do this." The tears stung her eyes as she lifted the barrel of the gun. A gust of wind howled around them, blowing the sheet away. She screamed when she saw her mother's dead body lying on the canyon floor._

Jennifer sat straight up. Beads of sweat broke out along her forehead and neck. She sat in the darkness of the suite breathing heavily. It had been a long time since she'd had a nightmare about her mother. She looked over at the clock, finding that four o'clock had come and gone. _Damn!_ She quickly picked up the phone to call home, but knew it was too late. He'd already be on his way. Lying back, she again closed her eyes, silently cursing herself and the failed alarm clock.

Usually the morning brought focus and clarity to the problems of the night before, but not this time. Her mind replayed every detail of the evening and once more she saw the look on his face as he stood in front of her in the ballroom. Was he sorry? Or was he just trying to save face and avoid a scene? Jennifer sighed heavily, knowing there were really only two things to consider. Jonathan had deceived her and she was in love with Jonathan _._ Jonathan Hart. A man of the world. A man she barely knew. _When's his birthday, Jennifer? What's his middle name? Who did he vote for in the last election?_ She reached for the phone and called the front desk.

"Jennifer Edwards. Do I have any messages?"

"Yes, Ms. Edwards, you have several. Would you like them sent to your suite now?" The front desk clerk asked in a cheerful tone.

"Yes, along with a pot of coffee please."

"Certainly."

Jennifer hung up the phone and turned on the lamp beside the bed. Her swollen eyes ached and the light burned in them. She gave them a rub, stopping briefly when she noticed the orchids on the coffee table. Ignoring an unsettling feeling in her gut, she slid into the wheelchair and made her way into the bathroom. The light was bright and rude. She stared at her reflection, which spoke a thousand words...none of them good. There'd be no way of hiding what she was feeling from her father. Her eyes said it all. She couldn't hide the hurt nor the lack of sleep. But her moment of self inspection was interrupted by a soft knock.

A young man stood outside her suite with a tray of morning comfort. He placed it on the table and handed Jennifer a collection of messages. She thanked him and quietly closed the door. Her hands trembled as she flipped through the notes:

 _Jonathan Hart , 9:45_

 _Jonathan Hart , 10:42_

 _Jonathan Hart , 12:06_

 _Jonathan Hart , 1:18_

 _Jonathan Hart , 2:25_

 _Jonathan Hart , 2:57_

 _Jonathan Hart , 4:13_

Jennifer fanned herself with the stack of messages. Seven calls. Seven unanswered calls.

XXXXXXXXXX

The phone rang and Jonathan sat straight up on the sofa. He was still wearing the shirt and pants from the night before. His jacket and tie lie in a rumpled mass on the floor beside him. He quickly checked his watch and grabbed the phone. It was six-thirty.

"Jennifer?" He answered.

"No, this is Julian Dey from the neurotrauma ICU. I'm one of Mr. Brennan's nurses. Is this Jonathan Hart?"

"Yes, Julian. Good morning. Is everything okay? Is Max alright?"

"Well, that is why I'm calling. Mr. Brennan is awake. I mean really awake. He started talking early this morning and hasn't stopped. He's been asking for you too."

Jonathan felt a genuine wave of happiness for the first time in many hours.

"That's wonderful. Thank you so much for calling me. I'll be there at the first visitation. And I'll call his niece and let her know as well."

Jonathan hung up the phone. He wanted desperately to call Jennifer and share his good news of Max. But he'd called her all night with no response. Looking down at the phone in his hand, he called Sarah instead

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer waited for him at the baggage claim area. Instantly, he recognized that something was wrong with his daughter. She could never hide the feelings that lived in her eyes.

"My dear, what on earth are you doing here? I thought we talked about this? That I'd take a cab to your hotel?" He kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Well, things have changed. We'll talk about it on the way back. Let's get your bags."

Inside the taxi, Jennifer was quiet. Stephen studied his daughter for a moment before digging for details. Her face was tense. Her body appeared closed and guarded. Something had definitely happened and it wasn't good. He reached over and took her hand in his.

"What has happened, Darling?"

In the most calm and rational voice she could muster, she told her father everything that had happened since she'd arrived back in Los Angeles. The afternoon picnic…the night in Mandeville Canyon…the reception at the Four Seasons...the dream about King and her mother. Stephen continued to hold her hand, patting it lovingly and listening to his grown daughter.

"Obviously, you feel something for this man or you wouldn't be this upset."

"I just can't believe he would deceive me this way." Her voice trailed off. Stephen didn't comment, but continued to hold her hand in his as the cab made its way toward downtown.

"Have you given him a chance to explain his side?" He asked. But Jennifer gave no response, turning her eyes back toward the window.

"I see." He nodded. "My guess is that that strong will of yours sent you flying off half-cocked."

Again his daughter said nothing, only shaking her head in confirmation that her father just didn't understand.

"I think it's time you realized the fundamental difference between strength of character and flat-out stubbornness, Jennifer."

Her gaze stayed focused on the world outside the window of the cab. She pulled her hand from his grasp and nervously twisted her pinky ring.

"Listen, I can't think about this right now. I've got to go to the hospital soon and meet with Dr. Walsh."

"Yes, well, after your blood work, I want you to come straight back to the suite and rest."

"I'm not having any blood work done."

"Why on earth not?"

"Because I'm not having the surgery."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're having the surgery." Stephen shook his head in disgust.

"No, I'm not. I'm graciously bowing out and we're flying back home as soon as humanly possible."

"But Jennifer…" Stephen struggled to make sense of her.

"I didn't get the candidacy, don't you see? He gave it to me, with complete disregard for the other patients. Do you honestly think I could go through with it knowing that?" She was now shouting. The angry feelings from the night before found their way back. The cab driver eyed her from his rear view mirror.

"Jennifer, please!" Her father raised his voice.

"We conveniently run into each other a few times at the hospital. He asks me to lunch. He pours on the charm. The Board makes their decision a full week ahead of schedule. Any of this ringin' a bell? Sorry, but I just can't do it. I won't do it. It's wrong. I'll just call Dr. Kaplan back in DC and he can do the surgery. He's highly qualified. I'm sure it will be fine."

"No! I will not allow you to do this. Now these doctors have spent a great deal of time and money on you and you are going to finish what you started!" Stephen's tone was fierce and it made Jennifer feels as if she were a small child again.

"But that's just it. It was _his_ money. You don't get it." Jennifer jerked her head and stared out the window. She couldn't look at her father. _How can he possibly be on their side?_

Stephen took a deep breath and slowly let it out. God, she was headstrong. He knew he had to remain calm with her. She knew her way around a good verbal fight.

"Jennifer, listen to what you're saying. You are making a big mistake. This surgery is the most important thing in your life. Aren't you ready to be rid of that chair? And what about Jonathan? You haven't even given him a chance to explain himself. If you really care about him, you'd at least give him that."

Jennifer was silent. God, she hated when her father was right. She thought back to seven small scraps of paper lying on the desk in her suite. He had reached out many times, and she'd done nothing.

They arrived at the main doors of her hotel. Within minutes, Jennifer and her father were back in her suite though they'd not exchanged a word since her outburst in the cab. She called room service and ordered some tea. They sat in silence for over an hour, quietly watching CNN. But soon she grew bored with the television and turned her attention to her father instead. He wasn't an especially large man, but something about him made people feel intimated. Maybe it was the accent or his formal use of the language. She couldn't put her finger on it. But she knew that people tended to stand a little straighter when Stephen Edwards walked in the room. She knew that she was breaking his heart, but she had to do what she felt was right.

"I have to go the hospital now, Pa. I'll be back soon. Maybe then we can go grab a bite somewhere." She said, finally breaking her silence.

Stephen had no idea if he'd gotten through to her. Judging by the look in her eyes, she'd definitely made a decision. But what decision, he simply had no idea. He knew that it was her body, her tumor and her call. He stood and walked over to her, taking her face in his hands.

"Alright, my darling. At least let me call you another cab." He smiled down at her.

"Don't bother. Mr. Hart's lab arranged limousine service to and from the hospital."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Mr. H, I am so sorry." Max's voice was weak and dry, barely above a whisper.

Jonathan gently patted his hand. He looked at Max's mouth. His lips were parched and wrinkled, as though he'd spent days lost in a desert. His bottom lip was bruised and sore—a physical reminder of the respirator tube that held a place there for so many days. Though he was talking, his eyes remained closed. Jonathan was not prepared for the rush of emotion that flowed through his body.

"Shhh. Don't try to talk, Max." He continued to pat his hand. "And you don't have anything to be sorry for. You're going to be okay." He felt his own words trail off in a whisper as tears found their way to his eyes.

Max took a labored breath. "The doctor told me I had an aneurysm and a stroke."

Jonathan hesitated. He didn't want to relive that night, but knew he wouldn't be able to keep it from him. Max would want to know what happened-everything. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Yes you did. You had the aneurysm at home and then had a slight stroke here in ICU."

Max nodded his head; his eyes still closed. "I remember waking up with a headache." He stopped and took a deep breath. "A bad one. Like that time I sat up for two days, with Milt and the boys, with nothing but a steady diet of cigars and bourbon and cards." Max continued to breathe heavily. He paused for a moment, coughing.

Jonathan hated to see him struggle. He remembers waking up and a forty-eight hour card game from a year ago? Maybe there are no memory effects from the stroke. What else does he recall?" He wondered.

"So you remember the night? What exactly do you remember?"

He took a deep breath, but the words didn't come. Only a bout of heavy coughing.

"Let's just talk about this another time, alright? It doesn't matter right now." He regretted pressing him for details, but Max raised his left hand slightly and waved him off.

"No, I've been lying here for God knows how long. I need to know." He gave Jonathan's hand a slight squeeze.

"Alright. I guess it was about four in the morning. I heard this crash. At first, I thought I was dreaming. It took me a minute to wake up. I heard you call my name. At least I think you called out to me. I don't exactly remember myself. I was half-asleep. I ran down to your room and turned on the light, but you weren't there. I ran to the living room and that's where I saw you. You were lying on the floor in the dining room."

Max continued to nod his head slightly. "What was the crash?"

Jonathan took a deep breath. "You know that big mirror? Well, I guess you grabbed onto it, or fell into it. I found you lying in the broken glass. You were unconscious." He could feel his chest tighten and the lump in his throat was making it hard to breathe. "I called 911 and they brought you here. That's been…oh, close to three weeks ago." Jonathan observed Max as he continued to lie peacefully in his hospital bed. With the exception of a shaved head and his lip, he was beginning to look like himself again.

"I remember waking up with this awful headache. I was on my way to the kitchen to get something for it. That's all I remember."

"Well, 911 got there really fast. Those paramedics were amazing. And your doctor, Dr. Walsh, is one of the top neurosurgeons in the country. You are very lucky. We're very lucky." He gave his hand another squeeze.

"Did you call Slats?"

"No, Max. I haven't really called anyone. Sarah and Michael are here. And me. That's it. The doctors thought it would be best that way. We can only visit you for ten minutes every few hours. When you get in a private room, I promise to call all your buddies and let them know. I'm sure they'll want to come and see you."

"So you've done nothing but hang out here for three weeks then? I'm so sorry to do this to ya."

"Quit apologizing. And it hasn't been just me. Sarah and Michael have been here everyday too. They're thrilled that you are awake. I called them right after one of the ICU nurses called me this morning. They'll be here for the next visitation. We've got to get you on some solid foods so you can get out of ICU."

"I could go for a nice, juicy steak."

"One step at a time. Let's start with some nice juicy Jell-O." He noticed a tiny smile on Max's lips.

"What are the nurses like around here? I've only seen one this morning and he ain't my type."

"The nursing staff is fantastic, so don't give anyone a hard time, okay?"

"I may be down, but I'm not dead." He gave Jonathan another smile. An attractive nurse poked her head around the curtain.

"Time's up you two." The nurse smiled sweetly.

"I better go. They're pretty strict about staying on a schedule." Jonathan patted his hand once more.

"Are you on your way to the office?"

"Actually no. I have to run an errand and make a delivery first."

"For what?"

"It's a long story. Actually, it's one you've already heard, but don't remember. I promise to tell you again, but not right now. It's too long to go into and I don't want to get on the bad side of any of the nurses."

"Okay, Mr. H." Max's voice sounded tired.

"Listen, you rest and I'll be back to see you tonight. Okay?"

Max was silent. Jonathan gently released his hand after several moments and quietly slid off the bed. Just as he turned to leave, Max spoke once more.

"So you never heard from Slats?"

"No, Max. Why?"

The old man opened one eye. "He placed three bets for me at Santa Anita that day."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer gazed out the darkened window of the limousine as it crawled through Med Center traffic. She would be at the hospital within minutes. Her mind wrestled with the decision she had made as the words of her father ricocheted around inside her head. She'd carefully weighed her options. Was her decision the right one? Despite the feelings of hurt and anger she felt, she could not ignore the one thought that lie in the center of all the others: Jonathan. She closed her eyes, bringing back the memory of her first night back in Los Angeles and the night they'd spent at the big house. She could still feel his hands on her face and his warm kisses on her cheek. Without even realizing it, she reached up and gently touched her own cheek. She could still see his eyes and the way they looked down at her with such intensity and caring. She could still hear the whisper of his words. _Do you trust me_? Slowly she opened her eyes as she felt the limousine come to a stop. The entrance to the hospital was crowded. She took a deep breath, resting her hand on the door handle.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jennifer, Darling, did you forget something?" He asked, opening the door of her suite. He was surprised to find a man standing on the other side. Stephen quickly took inventory of him. Dark gray suit, custom tailored; shoes, expensive and polished; Rolex watch on his left wrist. His hands held a neatly wrapped package. His face held a troubled expression. He knew immediately he was sizing up Jonathan Hart.

"Oh, I'm sorry to disturb you. I'm looking for Jennifer Edwards."

"I'm sorry, but Jennifer has gone out. I'm her father, Stephen Edwards." He extended his hand.

"Mr. Edwards, it's a real pleasure to meet you. I'm Jonathan Hart. Jennifer has told me so much about you." Jonathan returned his handshake.

"And she has told me much about you. Please come in."

Jonathan entered and glanced around the suite, his eyes stopping to rest on the large bouquet of orchids on the coffee table.

"Won't you sit down? I can call for some drinks. Some coffee, perhaps?"

"No sir, I'm fine, really." Jonathan hesitated. He wondered just what Jennifer had told him, if anything.

"Jennifer has gone to the hospital to meet with her doctor. I'm not sure how long she'll be. I would think she'd return within the hour."

Jonathan smiled weakly and nodded. He didn't know what to say.

"Well, I don't want to interrupt you. I really came by to give Jennifer this." He placed the wrapped package on the coffee table next to the orchids. "Would you see that she opens it tonight? I'd like for her to see it before she goes in for surgery in the morning."

Stephen had never been one to meddle in his daughter's personal affairs, but something about the man standing before him struck him in a way he couldn't describe. Stephen recognized the look in his eyes. His eyes looked very similar when he'd fallen for Jennifer's mother.

"Of course you're not interrupting. In fact, I'd enjoy the company—that is, if you don't have to rush off."

Jonathan looked down at his watch. Deanne wasn't expecting him for another hour. "No sir. I have some time."

"Very well, then. Are you sure you wouldn't like something to drink? I know it's early but I'd like something. And it's after twelve on the Eastern seaboard. Do they know how to make a good martini in Los Angeles?" Stephen smiled.

Jonathan chuckled. "I think the bar here is satisfactory."

"I'll order one then. And what for yourself?"

"Just a cup of coffee for me." Jonathan replied.

Stephen picked up the phone and called the bar. Jonathan noted his mannerisms as he made the call. His hands reminded him of Max. Especially the way his fingers were so precise and deliberate as he dialed. He continued to look around the suite for signs. Signs of what, he didn't know. There was a small suitcase beside the bed that he didn't recognize. Upon closer inspection, he found it bore Stephen's monogram. He noticed a book on the bedside table and his curiosity got the better of him. He casually strolled over to peek at its cover. _The Age of Innocence_ by Edith Wharton. No big surprise. He knew she loved the classics. He glanced warily at Stephen once more before quietly opening the book. There he found a collection of small pink papers playing bookmark, all bearing the same name: his. _Well, at least she got the messages_. He closed the novel and turned back toward Jennifer's father.

"I told them to bring the drinks straight out into the garden. Shall we?" Stephen motioned to the French doors that led to the small, private garden off the suite.

The two men sat under the shade of a large Chinese flame tree. They managed a comfortable conversation of the weather, horticulture and horses. When the drinks arrived, Jonathan wished he'd taken a martini instead of coffee. His curiosity was beyond peaked and his stomach was uncharacteristically knotted. He sat quietly and sipped his drink, wondering where the conversation would go next.

"How is your friend doing? The older gentlemen in the hospital."

"Actually, I just came from seeing him. His name is Max Brennan. He's doing very well. Thank you for asking."

"Jennifer mentioned that he suffered an aneurysm and a stroke."

"Yes sir. But there's good news today. He's awake for the first time since the night of the aneurysm. He's looking much better. There may even be a chance that he'll be moved to a private room soon. He's still on a feeding tube, but the outlook is very positive."

"And his doctor is the same one that's doing Jennifer surgery? Dr. Walsh?"

"Yes sir. He's an amazing surgeon. Both Max and Jennifer are very blessed to be in his care."

Stephen recalled the conversation he'd had with daughter in the cab. He hoped desperately that she would go through with everything as planned. But with Jennifer, nothing was certain. She did things her way. On her terms. Pushing Jennifer in one direction was a guarantee that she'd turn and go the opposite way. He'd seen it too many times.

Suddenly he was aware of an awkward silence between them. Time to test the waters. "I assume that the package you brought is a peace offering of sorts." Stephen looked Jonathan squarely in the eye.

"In a way. Well, it's really more of a good luck present for tomorrow." Jonathan kept eye contact as he brought his coffee cup to his lips. I guess she told him what happened last night.

"Well, maybe Jennifer should be the one making the peace offering to you." Stephen continued to hold his gaze.

 _Wait a minute! Do I have an ally?_ Jonathan was not the sort of man to play kiss-and-tell with anyone. Certainly not with the father of a woman he was involved with. But there was something about Stephen that he felt he could trust. He seemed honest and just. The type of man he felt would listen soundly to all facts before passing judgment.

"I don't think Jennifer sees it that way." Jonathan tried to convey his understanding to Stephen without tipping his hand.

"Yes, you're quite right. Jennifer likes to see things one way: _hers_." Stephen paused a moment and took another sip of his martini. "I remember the time she received the highest academic award during her senior year. She attended a private boarding school in Massachusetts. My wife had passed away and I was always on a plane somewhere on business. I didn't see a lot of her then, but we talked constantly. We became very close. Now, I know I could never take the place of her mother, but I tried my best to see that she was happy and that she had everything she needed. I was never able to say no to that girl very often. Oh, some colleagues of mine swore that I spoiled her rotten but she never really asked for anything—material things, I mean. Anyway, she was given this very prestigious award. She was an excellent student—very hardworking. Dedicated. She could speak half a dozen languages. Her writing was phenomenal. And I'm not just saying this because I'm her father. She has the awards to prove it. Well, word got around campus that the only reason Jennifer had been given this honor was because I had made a very large endowment to the school. Jennifer was crushed, completely crushed. She'd worked very hard on her studies and she was heartbroken to think that I somehow bought the award for her. She was livid. Refused to return my phone calls, refused to leave her dormitory. She didn't eat anything for three days and had to be taken to the infirmary because she got dangerously dehydrated. I was in Argentina when this happened. I figured that she was just being dramatic and needed time to cool off. I flew back here when the school called to say she'd taken ill. When I finally made it to her, she wouldn't even look at me. I had never known her to be so upset—not even when her mother passed away. She was utterly irrational. She informed me that she was transferring to a new school and that she planned to apply for a government grant to pay for the remainder of her education—on her own." Stephen paused again. He studied Jonathan's eyes, wondering if the Jennifer he described in any way resembled the Jennifer that stormed out of a hotel ballroom the night before.

"It took me arranging a meeting with the Headmaster of the school before Jennifer would be convinced that she'd received the award on her own merit and that my pocketbook had nothing to do with it." Stephen sighed heavily, and then continued. "Listen, I know we've only just met, and I don't know you. But I know Jennifer. She can be very obstinate and she loves a good verbal sparring match. Her tongue can be wicked at times. But deep down, she's passionate. And sometimes that passion gets on the wrong side of stubborn and there in lies the problem." He paused again, leaning forward toward Jonathan. "What I'm trying to say, without getting too much in your business, is that my daughter is really struggling to make sense of what happened last night. She feels as though she's been betrayed."

Jonathan had no words. He understood now that Stephen shared his story as a nudge of encouragement. He nodded his head and looked down at his hands.

"I tried to talk to her, but she doesn't want to hear what I have to say."

"Of course not. She's mad. Hurt. Just like when she was a girl. She would get so mad at me over some silly nonsense and she'd take off on her horse for hours. Well, of course I was sick with worry and she knew it. Did it just to spite me. That fiery hair of hers is a direct reflection of her fiery spirit. I'm convinced of it."

Jonathan imagined her gorgeous, silky head of hair. He could still feel it between his fingers. "Well, I can't force her to talk to me."

"No, Jennifer can't be forced to do anything. In fact, I'm afraid she's at the hospital right this moment telling Dr. Walsh that she's not going through with the surgery."

Jonathan's heart stopped. "Why would she do that?"

"It's the same as when she was in high school. She won't go through with the surgery because she feels you bought it for her."

"I honestly didn't realize the connection. I was just as shocked as she was." He shook his head in disbelief. "Mr. Edwards, I have absolutely no involvement with the lab or the hospital or any of it. I'm not a doctor or a scientist. I pump cash into industries to make profits for investors. All sorts of industries, including medicine. I had absolutely nothing to do with Jennifer being selected. I didn't even know the project was in existence 'til I met her."

"You certainly don't have to explain yourself to me. I believe you. And please, call me Stephen."

Jonathan continued to shake his head. "She's got to have that surgery."

"Maybe a word with the Headmaster might be in order."

Jonathan thought for a moment. "Dr. Walsh?"

"Precisely." Stephen replied with a nod.

XXXXXXXXXX

He rolled the windows down and let the breeze hit his face. He'd called Deanne and cancelled his meeting. He would make Jennifer hear him out and hopefully, Dr. Walsh would back him up. He arrived at the hospital and took the elevator up to his office. But he wasn't there. He checked around the physical therapy wing on the fifth floor for any sign of Jennifer or Dr. Walsh. No luck. They could be anywhere, he thought as he considered the vastness of the hospital. He entered the elevator and went back up to the sixth floor, heading straight for the nurses station. Surely someone would be able to locate them.

"Excuse me, but I need to see Dr. Walsh. Do you know if he's available?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, but Dr. Walsh was called into surgery. Is there something I can help you with?" The attendant responded.

"No, I need to speak with him directly. It's okay. Thank you."

Jonathan tapped his finger nervously on the desk, sighed and checked his watch. He walked down to the ICU waiting area to see if Sarah was there. He found six people sitting on the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, but Sarah was not one of them. He sat down and tried to regroup. He couldn't find Jennifer. Dr. Walsh was in surgery. He couldn't go back to her suite. He'd just left there. It was too late to reschedule the meeting that he'd cancelled. And he couldn't go in to see Max. He felt completely disconnected. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. What would Stephen tell Jennifer about their conversation in the garden? Would she listen? Would she care? He opened his eyes and focused on the large clock on the wall opposite him, contorting time in it's usual manner. The waiting room was a black hole where time was concerned and Jonathan refused to fall into the trap. Walking toward the elevators, he decided the best plan was to just go home. He pressed the button and waited. The doors opened and he stepped inside. He started to reach for the lobby button, but then stopped. He quickly pushed five instead. The elevator began its short decent and stopped. The doors opened at level five but no one was there. _So much for the Elevator of Fate._

XXXXXXXXXX

She swiped the electronic key and wheeled herself through the door of the suite. Everything was quiet. She could see her father lying on the chaise lounge in the garden. He held a cigarette in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Jennifer smiled, happy to see her father relaxing. She rolled over to the desk and picked up the phone.

"Yes, this Jennifer Edwards in Suite Twenty-one. Are there any messages for me?"

"No Ms. Edwards. No calls at this time."

"Thank you." She quietly replaced the receiver in its cradle. Clicking her fingernails on the top of the phone, she couldn't ignore the disappointment she felt. There were no messages from him. After seven unanswered calls, would she have continued to try? She steered the chair toward the French doors to join her father, but stopped suddenly when she caught sight of something on the coffee table. A beautifully wrapped box sat quietly beside the flowers. She maneuvered the chair around the sofa and over to the table. There was no card. Just a box wrapped in cream paper and topped with a large green silk bow. She smiled and shook her head, touched that her father still enjoyed surprising her with gifts. She balanced the box in her lap and headed out to the garden.

"Hi Pa." She parked the wheelchair right next to the chaise where her father lay.

"Good afternoon." He didn't look up from the paper. "I trust everything went according to your plan."

Jennifer recognized the tone. Stephen was famous for using sarcasm to disguise his displeasure in her—a very thin disguise.

"Yes."

"So what time is our flight?"

"We're not going home." She let out a heavy sigh.

"Is that so? And what brought about this change of heart?"

"I spoke with Dr. Walsh. He told me everything. The project, the Board, Jonathan…everything." Jennifer looked down and twisted her pinky ring nervously.

"Ahh, the facts. They do make a difference, don't they?" He still hadn't made eye contact with her.

"Go ahead and say it. You were right."

Stephen sat up, tossing the paper on the end of the chaise. After a final drag, he extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray on the small round table next to them. He leaned close to his daughter and smiled, reaching up and lightly touching her cheek.

"This has nothing at all to do with being right or wrong. I just want what's best for you. Don't you know that? You have a tumor in your spine. You have the best surgeon in the country, ready and willing to give you your life back. I can't let you just throw that all away because of your pride."

Jennifer looked back down at her pinky ring. She'd never been more disappointed in herself. "I wish I could just turn the clock back and start over. I've behaved badly to you and Jonathan. I was so rude. I said some pretty harsh things to him." Jennifer could feel her voice going; the emotion beginning to build inside her. "He called me last night. Do you know how many times? Seven. Seven times. And I never called him back. He waited up all night." She looked up at her father in search of the comfort she so often found in his brown eyes. Reaching for his hands, she felt the first tear fall. "I am so sorry. All you've ever done in my life is provide for me and love me and take care of me. And now…" She looked down, shaking her head back and forth. "Look, you're still buying me gifts to make me feel better." Jennifer tapped the top of the box in her lap.

"Jennifer, you are my daughter and I love you. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You are the best part of me. You are the living reminder of the woman that I loved with every fiber of my being. I just want you to be happy and healthy in this life. This short, fleeting life." Stephen squeezed her hands in his.

Jennifer could feel the tears making trails down her cheeks. Stephen reached up and gently brushed them away.

"Listen, Darling, I know you are a bundle of nerves with the surgery tomorrow. Let's just try to calm down now. I don't want you stressing yourself. In fact, I think you should lie down for a bit."

Jennifer reached up and wrapped her arms around her father's neck. She hugged him tightly as more tears fell. Stephen held her, softly patting her back. "Do you remember when you were a little girl and you were just learning to ride your bicycle without training wheels?" Stephen whispered in her ear, continuing to hold her close. "You were so determined to ride down the driveway by yourself. I was so afraid that you would fall because the incline of the drive was steep. But you told me it didn't matter if you fell, because you liked to cry and taste your salty tears. Do you remember?"

Slowly she released her grip and look up at him with a smile. "Yes, I remember."

"I will always be afraid that you're going to fall. But I know deep down that you will be alright because I've never known anyone stronger than you, my darling. And I've never been more proud of anything or anyone in my life." He leaned forward and tenderly kissed his daughter's forehead.

"I love you so much."

"Now then," He said, patting her legs, "Why don't I have something brought in for you for lunch. You can have a bite and read, or watch some television maybe."

"Can I open this first?" She tapped the box again. "This is really very sweet of you."

"Of course. But it's not from me."

"Then who's it from?"

"Jonathan Hart."

"Jonathan was here? When?"

"He knocked on the door about ten minutes after you'd left. I thought it was you, actually. Thought maybe you'd forgotten something."

"What did he say?"

"He asked that I give you the gift. He wants you to open it before your surgery tomorrow."

"That was it? That was all he said?"

"Well, no. We sat out here for over an hour and had a nice little chat."

"You had a chat? About what?"

"About you, my dear, what else?"

"What about me?"

"It's sort of fuzzy now. I've had a couple martinis..."

"Pa! What did he say?"

Stephen stood and patted his daughter on the shoulder.

"That he's in love with you."

"He really said that?"

"Not those exact words. But he didn't have to."

He turned and walked back inside the suite, closing the French doors behind him. Jennifer felt her heart do that little flip as she looked down at the package in her lap. She removed the ribbon and the wrapping, letting it fall to the ground. The box top featured a golden seal of a prominent Beverly Hills jeweler. Reaching inside, she carefully pulled out an antique music box made of very intricately carved wood. It reminded her of the enormous bookcase in Jonathan's apartment. She ran her fingers across the top of it. It was truly an exquisite piece. Lifting the gold latch on the front, she raised the lid of the box. Inside, a tiny porcelain couple danced round and round to the metallic melody of her favorite song—the song they heard as they danced on a plaid blanket under the stars. In the bottom of the box, she found a small note card bearing an embossed monogram: JCH. Inside, she found one line:

 _For the day that lies ahead…the day you will dance._

 _Jonathan_

"Take a look at this…" She wheeled herself back into the suite, holding up the music box for his inspection. Stephen said nothing, only smiling and nodding as he marveled at the thoughtful and no doubt expensive gift.

Jennifer sighed. She looked down at the card, studying his writing once more.

"I really messed things up this time, didn't I?"

"I don't think you've done anything that can't be undone. I think this gift says that better than anything." Stephen paused.

"You really think so?"

"Jennifer, Darling, this man is in love with you." He could see the surge of emotion in his daughter's eyes. "What exactly are your feelings for him?"

"Are you asking me if I'm in love with him?"

"Are you?"

Jennifer didn't answer, but looked away, imagining Jonathan spending time alone with her father. She bit her bottom lip and fanned herself with the card.

"I've got to talk to him. And not over the phone. I have to see him." She turned and wheeled her way over to the phone on the desk. She picked up the receiver and began dialing the number to his office. His secretary answered on the third ring.

"Yes, Jonathan Hart please. This is Jennifer Edwards."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Edwards, but Mr. Hart won't be back in the office today. Would you like to leave a message?"

"No thanks. I'll try to reach him at home." She quietly hung the phone up and turned back to her father.

"Should I call first, or just show up?" She looked to Stephen for guidance.

"Oh no. That's a decision you have to make. I've quite surpassed my level of involvement in all this as it is."

Jennifer turned back to the desk. Opening several drawers, she searched for and finally located a phone book. Quickly she leafed through the pages, eager to find the number. She picked up the phone once again and dialed.

"Hello?" A man answered.

Jennifer cleared her throat. "Sì, buon pomeriggio. Devo ordinare prego…"

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan flipped on the stereo before making his way to the bar. He knew he should've gone back to the office but he just couldn't think about work. He surveyed the bottles behind the bar and decided on Beefeater. The appealing look of Stephen's martini was still fresh in his mind. He found the vermouth and began pouring. As the clear liquid fell into the shaker, he wondered if Jennifer had returned from the hospital. Had she spoken with her father? Had she opened the gift? He sat the bottle down and went to the answering machine. No blinking light. Returning to the bar, he eyed his bookcase. He snapped his fingers as a thought entered his mind. Was it there? He knew he'd seen it at one time. He finished his barkeep duties and carried his cocktail over to the bookcase, placing it on a copy of Architectural Digest. Slowly he examined the spines of the books. There were hundreds of them. He knew he'd seen it. Methodically, he scanned each book until, after several moments, his finger came to rest on it. He removed the book and, picking up his drink, made his way to one of the large leather wing chairs near the fireplace. Studying the cover, he could imagine her lying in bed, holding the very same novel in her delicate hands. He pictured her perfectly manicured nails and the diamond pinky ring on her left hand. The way her hand felt in his as he gently rubbed her thumb with his own. Shaking his head with a quiet smile, his thoughts returned to the book. Though he'd never had a desire to read it—despite the fact that it was one of the most acclaimed novels of the twentieth century—just knowing that his eyes would fall upon the same lines that Jennifer read made him feel closer to her.

He decided to play his old game of literary fate. It was something he'd done for years-opening a book to any page and randomly selecting a portion to read. If the lines spoke to him, he'd read it. If they didn't, it was back on the shelf for another day. He closed his eyes and opened the book. Twirling his finger around in the air above it, he slowly brought it down upon the page. He opened his eyes and was met with Chapter Two. Lifting his finger from the place he'd blindly found, he read Edith Wharton's words silently…

"The persons of their world lived in an atmosphere of faint implications and pale delicacies, and the fact that he and she understood each other without a word seemed to the young man to bring them nearer than any explanation would have done."

Jonathan read the lines twice. It seemed that fate was not just for elevators. He flipped to page one and began reading. The minutes inside the apartment quickly melted away and he didn't realize he'd been reading for over an hour when the phone rang, bringing him back to reality. He dropped the book on the coffee table and walked to table in the entry.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Hart, its Nathan. You have a delivery. Shall I send it up?"

Jonathan thought for a moment. He wasn't expecting anything. Nothing for the office was ever sent to his home address. And besides, Deanne would have called first if she was sending something by courier. Wait…could it be?

"Is it Ms. Kirkley?" He asked with a slightly frantic tone.

"No sir. It's a box for you."

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Alright, send it up."

"Yes sir."

Hanging up the phone, he turned back to the living room as his martini called out to him. He walked casually to the coffee table for it and carried it to the window. Staring out at the city for a moment, he remembered the lines from the novel...

 _"he and she understood each other without a word..."_

A quiet knock brought him back once again. He approached the door, glass in hand.

"Yes?" Jonathan raised his voice slightly.

"Delivery for Jonathan Hart." A woman's voice answered. A voice that sounded like a gypsy.

Quickly Jonathan opened the door. Their eyes met and they held each other's gaze for several seconds—just as they had in the airport two days before. Every word, every doubt, every disappointment of the past twenty four hours dissolved like a morning mist as he stared into her autumn eyes. He'd told Stephen that he cared deeply for her—and he knew at that exact moment in time, he'd never spoken truer words. She smiled shyly, glancing down at the floor. When her eyes met his again, she was back in character.

"So you are being Jonathan Hart, no?" Her gypsy impersonation was adorable. The playful way she wrinkled her nose made him laugh.

"Yes, I'm Jonathan Hart."

"I am seeing in my crystal ball that you are in need of pizza." She held out a large square box from her lap.

"That is amazing. Please, by all means, enter."

"Thank you, kind sir." She answered.

Jonathan took the box from her and stepped back, allowing her entry into his apartment. Jennifer's heart beat quickly. She wheeled herself into the living room. Again, she marveled at the warmth of his apartment, taking in the art and furnishings around her. She took a deep breath and turned the chair around to face him.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" She spoke in her natural voice.

"I'm not breaking up with anyone, if that's what you mean."

She smiled. All the severe tension she expected to feel was absent. They'd fallen back into their same, effortless banter. Looking into his eyes, she could sense that he was searching hers for a sign.

"Nino and Nico send you their best." She said, pointing to the pizza box in his hands.

"You went to Nino's?" Jonathan looked down at the box.

"I couldn't show up with just any pizza as a peace offering, now could I?"

"I guess if a pizza can get you back in good graces, it would be one of Nino's."

Jennifer could feel the pressure of a thousand words building up inside her. She took another deep breath. "So, how are you?"

"I would like to say I'm fine but I'm not a very good liar." Jonathan fixed his eyes upon her and she smiled back. Another moment of silence passed between them, as their eyes held a quietly conversation of their own.

"Why don't I grab some plates and drinks for us and we can dig in?" Jonathan gave her another smile.

"That would be great. Can I help?"

"No. Just make yourself comfortable. We can eat out on the balcony, if that's okay with you." Jonathan crossed the room toward the kitchen, stopping beside her. He reached down, placing his hand lightly upon her shoulder. He could not resist the need he had to touch her—even for just one brief moment. She looked up at him and instantly she knew. She could see in his eyes that everything was going to be okay. She smiled and reached up, placing her hand on top of his, giving it a light squeeze in return.

They didn't say a word. They didn't have to.

Settled high above the city, Jennifer knew she couldn't keep the river of thoughts and words inside her contained.

"My father really enjoyed visiting with you today."

"He's really great. It's obvious how much he cares for you."

"Well, sometimes he forgets that I'm not in kindergarten anymore. But we're very close."

"I can tell. And he's very proud of that."

"Jonathan, I opened your gift."

"You did?"

"It's absolutely beautiful. I've never received anything like it. And I owe you an enormous apology…" Her voice trailed off. She watched him shake his head.

"Please, Jennifer, don't say anything. You don't have to apologize to me about anything."

"Yes I do. So please, let me say what I came here to say." Her tone was serious and firm.

It was Jonathan's turn to take a deep breath. Had he read her signals wrong? Maybe there would be another break-up at his apartment, only this time he would be the one left on the empty side of hurt.

"If I could take back the past however many hours and get off that plane once more, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I can't…" Jennifer could feel the tears building. This was going to be harder than she thought. Jonathan pulled his chair closer to hers, reaching for her hand.

"I've always worked hard for everything I have in my life—from the time I was very young. Whether it was school or writing or playing polo. I'm very competitive. But the one thing I have never been willing to compromise is fairness. When I heard that you owned the lab and the hospital, all I could think was that you somehow used your influence to get me this surgery. I've already struggled with so much guilt. When Dr. Walsh called to say I'd been selected, I couldn't even be happy. All I could think was that the other candidates would be getting another kind of phone call." She stopped to take a much needed breath. "I went to the hospital today to tell Dr. Walsh that I couldn't go through with the surgery."

Jonathan froze. The words he didn't want to hear fell right from her lips, just like rain. He looked down at their hands. All he could do was shake his head.

"But Dr. Walsh told me everything. About the project, the Board, the lab." She placed her other hand on top of his. Jonathan looked up at her.

"He did?"

"Yes, he did. And that's why I need to apologize to you. I just ran away without even giving you a chance to explain. I was wrong, Jonathan. And I'm truly sorry."

"It's okay. I would've probably done the same thing."

"No, it's not okay. That's not how you treat someone that you care about." She squeezed his hands. "Unfortunately, along with my desire for fairness in life, I am cursed with a sharp tongue and a quick temper."

"Your father filled me in on that a bit." He gave her a wink.

"I'm sure he filled you in on plenty."

"Look, Jennifer, I didn't make the connection between you and the lab. I only supply the dollars. I have no knowledge of the day to day operations. My concern is quarterly earnings. That's it."

"You don't have to say a word—I understand now."

"I knew as soon as I stepped up to the microphone and saw your face, I knew that something was wrong."

"I am so sorry." Jennifer whispered.

"No. I should've excused myself, taken you aside, and explained everything—right there. I'm the one who was wrong, Jennifer, not you." He reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. "I'd give up a thousand companies and a thousand projects if I thought that's what you wanted. I want you to have this surgery because I want you to be able to dance again. But even if you couldn't, and you were destined to remain in that wheelchair for the rest of your life, it wouldn't matter to me. I don't see the chair."

XXXXXXXXXX

"I have something for you. It's inside, in my purse." She smiled.

"A gift for me?" He ran his fingers through her hair, gently smoothing it back.

"Well, I wasn't sure the pizza would be enough."

After clearing the dishes, he pushed her back into the living room. She picked up her purse from the bookcase and pulled out a small box. It was wrapped in black and white striped paper, and he knew immediately that it came from the same jeweler he'd visited early that morning.

"That box is kind of small. I was hoping for new golf clubs."

"I'll let Santa know." She handed him the box with a wink.

Jonathan was not accustomed to receiving gifts and he felt a little embarrassed. Lifting the lid, he found a beautiful gold chain inside. With the exception of his watch and the magnetic bracelet he occasionally wore, he didn't really wear anything else.

"Oh Jennifer, this is fantastic. But you didn't need to get me anything."

"Well, it's not really for you. It's more for me."

He gave her a look. "And how do you figure that?"

She wheeled over to him and took the box from his hands. Resting it on her lap, she removed her pinky ring. She pulled the chain from the box, opened the clasp, and slipped her ring onto it. Turning to Jonathan, she motioned to him. Carefully she secured the chain around his neck; the pinky ring dangling in front.

"There. That should do it." She reached out and touched the ring as it lay against his chest. "I won't be able to wear any jewelry during my surgery and I want to make sure that this is in a safe place." She stared into his endless blue eyes. "My father gave me that ring on my twenty-first birthday. It's the most special thing I own."

"What time is your surgery?"

"I have to be at the hospital at six."

"So you did your blood work and met with the anesthesiologist?"

"Yes, Dr. Davidson. A really nice woman."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little bit. I try not to think about it, but it's always in the back of my mind."

"Well, Dr. Walsh is the best there is. Everything will be fine. Luckily, he won't have to give you a haircut like he did with Max."

"Oh Jonathan, my father told me that Max woke up. That is wonderful news. I know you must be so relieved."

"Yeah, he's looking better. And I don't think he's suffered any ill effects of the aneurysm or the stroke. His first real question to me was _Have you heard from my bookie_?"

Jennifer laughed. "That sounds like the Max you described to me."

"Hopefully, when you're up and around after surgery, you can spend some time with him."

"How about tonight? That is if you don't mind me tagging along to the last visitation with you."

"Of course I don't mind but I think you should be resting. You have an early morning and a big day ahead of you."

"I'm having surgery. I'm not running a marathon. And I'm going to be in bed for days. I've got plenty of rest coming to me."

"Jennifer, your body needs to be well rested _before_ surgery."

"So now you're a doctor?"

"No, but I've been up there enough to know. Dr. Walsh would tell you the same thing."

"Alright. I won't argue." She put her hand up in a sign of surrender.

"We could go have dinner somewhere, then we can stop in and see Max before I take you back to the hotel. We'll make an early night of it, but you need to rest until then."

"You want me to rest here? Now?"

"No offense, Darling, but you're sportin' some mighty big Samsonites underneath those gorgeous eyes."

"I travel first class, _Darling_. These are genuine Louis Vuitton." She pointed the dark, puffy circles under her eyes, further evidence of her restless night.

"You can take a nap in my room. The maid came this morning. The sheets are fresh, the pillows are plumped. And I'll be standing by for room service, of course."

She shook her head and grinned. "Well, how can I argue with that?"

"You can't. Let's go."

He pushed the chair down to the end of the hall. His room was just as she remembered. Clean and sparse. He rolled her over close to the bed. She placed her hands in position to transfer herself over but he caught one in mid-motion.

"Allow me." He slid his arm around her waist and carefully lifted her from the wheelchair. Sitting down at the end of the bed he removed her shoes. He rubbed her feet for a moment with a gentle touch and Jennifer laughed.

"Does that tickle?"

"No, I can't feel it. I mean, I can feel it, but I can't feel it. Does that make sense?"

"No."

"It's like when you've had a shot of Novocain from the dentist. You can still feel your lip only it doesn't feel like your lip."

"Oh, okay. But if you can't feel it then why are you laughing?"

"Because you rubbed my feet. My father does the same thing when he helps me with my shoes. My father is crazy about my feet but not in a weird way. He just always loved my feet when I was a baby. My mother said he would kiss my feet first thing every morning. He called them my 'sugar feet' and used to tease me when I was little that his coffee could use some sugar… and would I please come and dip my big toe in his coffee cup." Jennifer stopped. "Okay, why am I telling you this? You must think that's absolutely crazy."

Jonathan continued to gaze into her eyes. He loved the way they were so animated when she told a story. And the way she gestured with her hands. Her expressions were so genuine.

"No, I don't think it's weird at all. I think it's wonderful that you had such a loving childhood. Not everyone has that luxury."

Jennifer suddenly felt uncomfortable. "Oh Jonathan, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—

He cut her off. "Don't ever apologize for your happy memories. I love hearing stories of when you were a little girl. I want to hear all of them. I have a few happy childhood memories. Actually my favorite memories begin with Max. But I don't think he was really into my feet back then. Plus, he drinks his coffee black." He gave her a wink.

She couldn't help smiling back at him. "Very funny. My father even named his new horse in my honor. Sugarfoot. She's magnificent. Someday, you'll have to come home with me to see all our horses."

"Someday? You just name the day. I'll follow you anywhere." He gave her big toe a playful tug. "Okay, enough with the talking." He stood and made his way to the window, lowering the wooden blinds. The room was much darker, and though she hated to admit it, she was feeling a little tired. Jonathan went into the bathroom and came back with a blanket—the same one from their late night picnic.

"In case you get cold." He tossed it on the end of the bed. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine. What are you going to do?"

"Well, I thought I might read for a while."

"Why don't you read in here with me?"

"But you're supposed to be resting. I have a feeling that we'd end up doing everything but."

"I promise I'll close my eyes and keep quiet. Please come back in and lay with me…" She held her hand out to him.

"Now I know why your father said he had a hard time telling you no." He breathed a heavy sigh. "I'll be right back." Jonathan turned and walked down the hall.

She looked around the room once more. The chair was free of books, but the magazines and baseball still sat on the dresser. The bedside table was also missing something—the picture of the blonde. Jonathan returned with his book and flopped down in the chair. Jennifer turned on her side to face him, tucking her hands underneath the pillow.

"So you're gonna sit way over there, huh?"

"Yep." He concentrated on the book.

"Is that a comfortable chair?"

"Yep."

Jennifer lay quiet for less than a minute. She watched his eyes.

"Do you think that chair is more comfortable or less comfortable than the bed?"

Jonathan closed the book and shot her a look. "Jennifer, what happened to 'I'll close my eyes and promise to be quiet'?"

"Sorry." She closed her eyes, and Jonathan again opened the book. After another minute, she couldn't stand it.

"So what are you reading, anyway?"

"You're hopeless, you know that?" He snapped the book shut and walked toward the door.

"You're leaving?"

"You didn't keep your end of the deal."

"Okay, this time I promise. Don't leave. Come and read to me for a few minutes. I'll fall right to sleep this time.

"No."

"Pretty please?

"No." He turned and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Within a minute, he was back out, wearing a tee shirt and sweatpants.

"My, my, aren't we the picture of comfy?"

He made his way over to the bed and flashed his signature smile. "Move over, Red."

Jennifer laughed out loud. "I thought you said 'no'?"

"I did, but I lied." He slid over beside her.

"But you told me you're not a good liar."

"I lied about that too." He winked. "Okay, time for a story."

Jennifer caught sight of the cover. "The Age of Innocence? You've got to be kidding?"

"It's a classic. Have you read it?"

"I'm reading it right now. It's back at the hotel and..." She stopped, a sly grin breaking across her lips. "You saw my book, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"I'm on chapter five." She smiled and shook her head.

"Then I'll start there."

Jonathan opened the book and began reading aloud. Jennifer put her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes, completely entranced by the sound of his husky voice. His words and expressions were warm and they covered her as gently as the plaid blanket. She tried to stay awake, but the comforting sound of his voice was causing her to slip away. Jonathan could feel her body relaxing beside him and her hand moved and slipped down beside him. He quietly read the last few lines of the page and closed the book. He tried not to disturb her as he placed the novel on the bedside table. He knew he should get up, go into the other room and let her sleep but he couldn't. Looking down at her, watching the rhythmic movements of breath rise and fall in her chest, he was amazed. She was absolutely beautiful. Unable to resist, he reached down and took her hand in his.

"Jonathan?" She spoke his name in a sleepy voice, her eyes still closed.

"Yes?" He whispered.

"I gave up on this dream a long time ago."

"Me too." He gently brushed his lips across the back of her hand.

"Jonathan?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks for giving me back my dream." She whispered.

 **TBC**

 **All reviews welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

_They'd barely made it aboard when the ferry began to move. It took both of them a moment to catch their breath. They'd had to run to make it. A light wind was blowing. For a weekday, the boat was relatively empty-just a few sightseers. They decided to sit on the back end, away from the other passengers. Though he'd seen the islands before from many different angles, they'd never looked quite so beautiful before. Maybe it was the way the sun played hide and seek behind the clouds. Maybe it was the way her reflection bounced off everything around them. Whatever the reason, he couldn't stop smiling. He quietly observed her. Her hair was pulled back away from her face. The wind caught her ponytail and it danced behind her. She wore a plain white turtleneck that hugged every curve. He could imagine the tempting trail of freckles that covered her body underneath it. She turned and smiled shyly back at him. All the colors of autumn danced in her eyes. All the worlds he ever wanted to know danced in them as well._

 _"You're doing it again." He smiled._

 _"Doing what?" She looked quizzically into his._

 _"Making me fall in love with you." He leaned forward and kissed her gently as the waves of the Saronic Gulf lapped up on the sides of the small Greek vessel. He pulled away and smiled once more._

 _"I love you, Nik." He whispered, wrapping his strong arms around her and pulling her close_.

Jonathan opened his eyes, giving them a moment to adjust to the light. His heart beat rapidly. The room was filled with shadows of the late day sun. He checked his watch, surprised to see it was already past the cocktail hour. He looked over at her, focusing on her hands tucked neatly under her cheek in a prayer clasp. _Should I wake her?_ Her breathing was quiet as she lay beside him, lost in dreams.

 _Why do we have to give over control of our minds when we sleep?_ He wondered.

Jonathan rarely dreamed. At least if he did, he rarely remembered the details. In fact, it was normal for him lie awake at four in the morning, staring blindly at the ceiling. He'd never been much of a sleeper. His mind always raced as if he'd misplaced something and had to stay awake to find it. But lying beside Jennifer relaxed him and he'd fallen asleep instantly.

He let his eyes travel up and down her body. The silk blouse she wore had shifted slightly in her sleep and he could see the lacey edge of her camisole underneath. A tiny gold chain lay against her freckled chest. It was the most delicate piece of jewelry he'd ever seen. It held a gold and diamond pendant in the shape of something—he couldn't quite make out what. It was feminine and elegant. He reached down for the chain around his own neck and rubbed it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Once again, he turned his gaze back to the woman beside him. Many women had found their way to his bed, but this woman was different. Feelings of protecting her filled him in a way that he couldn't describe. He thought back to the string of empty relationships over the past several years—over the course of his entire adult life. _Never again._ _Never. Again._

He reached for a strand of hair that rested on her eyelash, gently brushing it away. Every feature of her face was flawless. He could stare at her for hours, knowing that he would never tire. He leaned forward and tenderly kissed her, just as he had in his dream. She sighed heavily, her eyes still closed. He kissed her once more, this time allowing his lips to linger a little longer and knowing he'd never kiss another woman again. Slowly, Jennifer opened her eyes and smiled.

"Now I know why you don't need an alarm clock in here. That's definitely the best way to wake up."

"How did you sleep?"

"I was more tired that I thought. I was really out." She stretched her arms above her head. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Just after five-thirty."

"I should call my father. I didn't tell him I'd be gone all afternoon."

"Did you tell him you were coming here?"

"Yes, he knows."

"Then I don't think he'll worry."

Jennifer smiled at him again. "I guess you're right."

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, I just want to lie here for a little while longer."

"How much longer?"

"Oh, I don't know." She yawned. "What do you think?"

"I think much, much longer. Years in fact." He felt himself leaning forward again as her lips pulled him in. He kissed her deeply this time, exploring her mouth. She tasted like every sinful, sugary treat he could imagine. Dinner and Max and Stephen would have to wait. The world could just get in line…

"Jennifer, there are so many thoughts running through my mind." His pulled away, allowing his eyes to focus sharply on hers.

"Good thoughts, I hope."

He paused, stopping to trace her jaw line with his finger.

"You know why I don't have an alarm clock? Because I've been waiting for someone to lie next to me. To wake up _with_ me. Do you want to know something crazy? I've never taken a nap with anyone before. I mean, I've never known what it was like to enjoy the feeling of just sleeping beside someone. Do you know what I mean?"

"I know." She responded with serious eyes.

"I feel like I took my first breath that afternoon we spent together." He whispered.

"I feel like I haven't taken a breath since. Like if I breathe, the whole thing will disappear—"

"I can never go back, Jennifer. I don't want to go back." He interrupted with serious eyes.

"Back to what?"

"To the life I had before."

"You don't have to." She squeezed his hand.

"But I want to do this right. I don't want there to be any questions."

"Questions?"

"About me. About who I am. There are things I haven't told you yet and-"

"What else do I need to know?" She cut him off. "You're a big spender who likes to get up early and have a breakfast of pancakes and Scotch before donning a tuxedo and heading to a baseball game."

"Jennifer, I'm serious.

She could see the intensity behind his blue eyes. Nodding her head, she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"Okay."

"I want to talk to you about Angela."

Jennifer paused and looked away.

"Ahh, yes… Blondie. I noticed your room was missing a photo or two. Really, it's none of my business what went on between the two of you. It doesn't matter. We don't have to discuss it."

"Yes we do. I told you the other day that I wanted to talk about it."

Jennifer blinked her eyes slowly. Her mind began to swim up the current of memories of her past relationship. Was it time to discuss him too?

"I'm listening."

"She was here."

"Yeah, I know. I was in the kitchen, remember? Practicing my barbeque martial arts."

"No, I mean she came back. She was here when I got home from work."

"Today?"

"No, a few days ago. I didn't mention it before because I didn't want to upset you."

"What did she want?"

"Well, in a word…me. I walked in here and the room was full of candles. She was here in the bed wearing one of my dress shirts and nothing else."

"Really?"

"I wasn't impressed."

"So what did she say?"

"Something to the effect of 'just give me one more chance.' I told her that it was over. But she knew that when she came here."

Jennifer paused for a moment and tried to picture the striking blonde in his bed. Somehow, she just couldn't see it.

"Did she mention me? Did you mention us?"

"Oh yeah, she mentioned _you_ all right—'Pollyanna-In-The-Wheelchair.'"

"I've been called worse. But _Pollyanna_ …that's actually pretty funny."

"I didn't tell her anything about us. I don't want her to know anything about us. I called down for Nathan to send security up to escort her out. But she left on her own before that was necessary. I haven't heard from her since. Hopefully, I won't. But that's not really what I wanted to tell you. See, Angela and I met about six or seven months ago through a mutual friend, Doug Perry. He and I are competitors, but have become good friends over the years. His wife, Pam, and Angela went to college together. They introduced us and we started going out."

"Are you going to tell me stories of how you met _every_ ex-girlfriend?" She sighed heavily again, raising her eyebrow at him.

"No. I only need to tell you one, because they're all the _same_ story. Would you let me finish, please?" He gave her a look. She knew he wasn't playing games.

"Sorry. Go on."

"Angela's smart and funny and attractive. She and I had some fun times together. We did a lot of traveling, attended corporate events, stuff like that."

Jennifer could not resist the urge to interrupt him again.

"Jonathan, why are you telling me this? I'm not jealous of Angela. It doesn't matter."

"I'm telling you this because I want you to know how different you are from her - from every woman. I never took an afternoon nap with Angela. I never ate pizza on my balcony in the middle of the day with her. I never took her to Gavin's house. Or Nino's place. She doesn't know the Celebrity Twin Game. She has no idea that my car is named Ava. We never danced on a blanket. We never kissed in an elevator."

Jennifer bit her lip. She didn't know what to say.

"I've never done this with anyone else. And I don't want to do this with anyone else. That's why I have to tell you everything. I _want_ to tell you everything. I've never allowed myself to get close to anyone. Why? Pick a reason. Fear, doubt, pride…all the above." He brushed her hair off her forehead with his finger and continued. I've never shared anything real with anyone. All my relationships have been based on physical needs and convenience and not much more. Before Angela, I was involved with a woman named Nikki. We were together for almost four years. That's my longest relationship. Hell, it's my _only_ relationship. I wasn't in love with her. God knows I tried to be. But I adored her family. They were wonderful people. I guess that my longing for family is what kept us together. I allowed myself to get comfortable—with Angela and with Nikki. And I don't want to be comfortable."

Jennifer nodded and closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. No man had ever opened up to her before.

"And before Angela and Nik, well I'm not too proud to say that I don't remember many of them. Some, I didn't even know their last names."

She looked up at him. "I don't know what to say." Sighing again, she took a moment to collect her thoughts, looking down to study the hairs on his forearm.

"You don't have to say anything." He whispered. "I just want you to know everything. No secrets. No question marks."

Her mind and heart raced as she considered his honest words, knowing he deserved the same thing in return.

"I've been guarding myself from living life for a long time too." She remarked after several minutes of silence. "And I don't want to go back either." She added.

Jonathan slid his arm underneath her neck and pulled her body over to his. He kissed her once again, losing his hands in her hair. He could not pull her close enough. She felt so good in his arms. For a moment, he thought he felt her body stiffen. Pulling away, he looked into her eyes, noticing signs of doubt.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"When a woman says nothing it definitely means something." He grinned, trying to make her smile.

"It's silly."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that." He nodded with reassurance.

"Well, it's just that..." She hesitated.

"What? Just say it."

"It's just that you have this way about you. You make me feel special. It's been a long time since I felt that way. I don't know that I ever did. Other than from my father, I mean."

"And why would you have any reason to _not_ feel special? Look at you…"

"I just haven't. It's a long story. Excess baggage, I guess. Why I'm even thinking about it, I have no idea." She looked down, avoiding his eyes.

"We're all just a product of our baggage." He reached down and lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. "Do you want to talk about it?" He asked in a compassionate tone.

Jennifer had spent the last couple of years burying those painful memories of another man. A man who took from her something she could never get back.

"Jennifer, do you want to talk about it?" He asked again.

"I don't really know how to say this. I've never said this to anyone before." She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes. He was still holding her in his soft, gentle way. "I've only been with one man in my life." Her voice was low, as if speaking quietly would lessen the impact.

Jonathan could see the pain in her eyes, as she whispered the words to him.

"Okay. It's okay." He smoothed her hair out across the pillow.

"I didn't know how to tell you. I wanted to tell you on the way back to the suite from Gavin's house, because I thought we were going to…" Her voiced trailed off.

"It's alright."

"I think the real reason I left the ballroom wasn't because of the surgery or the candidacy or any of that. I left because I was afraid. Afraid of getting hurt. I'd suffer the scars of a thousand surgeries before I'd go through that again. And when I thought you'd lied to me…well, I've spent the past two years trying to forget the lies."

"And who do I have to thank?"

"Thank? For what?"

"Who taught you to run away?"

Jennifer looked down at his arm, softly stroking it.

"His name's Elliot."

"Elliot what?"

"Manning. Elliot Manning."

"Tell me about Elliot." His voice had that calming reassurance that made her believe in herself. She knew she was completely safe.

Jennifer hadn't spoken his name since the last night she'd seen him. No one knew for sure what really happened between them. She'd told no one except her father, but not until much later. She'd been too ashamed. She looked into Jonathan's eyes, finding nothing but safety and honesty.

"I met Elliot through a publisher friend of mine. I was in London at the time, writing of course. I still had my apartment in DC, but lived alone in a small flat near Chelsea. We were at a party and that's how we were introduced. He's a very loud and gregarious man. I'm sure you know the type. Always wanting to be the center of attention. He was always surrounded by a crowd. Always sharing some great adventure story. Elliot traveled all over the world doing all sorts of crazy things. Skydiving. Swimming in shark tanks. You name it. He was loaded. But he didn't earn his money the old fashioned way. He inherited his grandfather's estate. And he was doing his best to spend every dime of it, too. Well, we danced and talked that first night together. He was very interesting, at least I thought so at the time. But looking back, I can see now that he just liked to hear the sound of his own voice. He sent me flowers every day for a week until I finally agreed to go out with him. We were together for three years. From the outside looking in, you would have thought we were the perfect couple. But behind closed doors, it was a totally different story. He was very controlling. I was kept on a very short leash, as they say. I still had my flat, but rarely stayed there. Elliot wanted me where he could keep an eye on me at all times. I had never been in a serious relationship with anyone. And he was quite a bit older than I was—so I just let him take the lead. Sure, I'd read the romance novels and seen the movies, but it's different when it's _your_ life. I assumed that no one really lived the fairy tale and that our relationship was probably like everyone else's." She paused and took a breath, amazed at how easy it was for her to tell him. He rubbed her shoulder tenderly, never taking his eyes off of her.

"I basically lived like a prisoner. I wasn't allowed to go out unless he was with me. He called me throughout the day—'checking in,' he called it. It was more like 'checking up.' We never saw any of my friends. _He_ made me quit playing polo. It wasn't because of my job, like I told you before. I wasn't close to my father then, which is the most painful part of it. He kept me away from my own family. I rarely came back to the United States during that time. I actually went an eleven months without seeing or speaking to my father. Elliot wasn't stupid. He knew better than to allow me to be around people who _really_ cared about me because he knew what they'd tell me—the truth." She stopped, taking a moment to catch her breath. "But what is normal exactly? I know _my_ parents loved each other. But they weren't really outwardly affectionate with one another. So I thought my relationship with Elliot was normal. He was very aggressive in bed with me. I didn't argue. I just went along because that's what you're _supposed_ to do. _Wives, submit to your husbands._ It's right there in the Bible. I mean, we weren't married, but I was still that committed to the relationship. He told me that he loved me and I told him the same. I lived a complete lie. Everyone in our social circle thought that Jennifer Edwards was this brash, tough, always in-control young journalist. At least that's what I made them believe. People would say, 'Well, looks like Elliot has finally met his match.' But I lived with a dirty little secret and a man who would make me change clothes at least five times before I was _presentable_ enough to be seen out with him. When we went out to dinner, _he_ ordered my meals for me. Couldn't have a _heavy_ woman on his arm. I remember this one night, I'd finally had enough. A woman had been calling the apartment asking for him. I played along, pretending that it didn't bother me. When he got home, I told him about the calls and that I wanted it to stop. He told me that since I didn't pay the phone bill, I was forbidden to use the phone. He was sleeping around, yet it was _my_ fault for answering the phone." She glanced down at her hand upon his arm. "You know, as hurt as I was at times, Elliot would turn around and say something really sweet and I'd just pull out my broom of forgiveness and sweep it all under the rug." Jennifer again looked down at her hand, slowly gliding across the top of his arm. She drew little circles around and around with her finger. She brought her eyes up to meet his once again. "And that's the shame that I live with. It's not the fact that I gave myself to man who really felt nothing for me. It's that I told him I love him, having no idea what that really means."

Jonathan was completely stunned by her story. He would've never imagined that she could have existed in such a relationship. She was so smart, so beautiful, and so confident.

"How did you finally end it? I mean, it sounds like he wasn't willing to just let you walk away…"

"My editor gave me the opportunity to travel to Africa on an assignment. I tried to call Elliot to let him know I was going but I couldn't reach him. It's funny, you know. He could _always_ reach me. I took a cab back home and found one of his many girlfriends asleep in our bed. I packed my clothes right there in front of her. She was apologizing, darting around the bedroom in search of her own clothes. But I just laughed and reassured her how she'd just done me the biggest favor of my life. I went back to my flat and disconnected my phone. I was on a plane to Africa that night."

"So you never talked to Elliot again? That was it?"

"We talked. He called my editor repeatedly—demanding that she tell him where I was. He showed up at the office and refused to leave one time. Of course my editor, Patsy, would call the hotel where I was staying and leave me a message in code every time he contacted her. It was just her name and a single number. If it said, 'Patsy Erikson, number five'—then I knew that he'd called for the fifth time. I finally called him after being away from him for two months mainly to tell him to stop bugging Patsy and everyone else we knew. It's not that he wanted me back. He just missed the control."

"Did he call your father?"

"Elliot? Call my father? God, no. My father had no idea what was going on in my life at that time. I did write him a very long letter about three weeks after I arrived in Kenya. I told him everything. He called me and we had a good cry about it. It definitely made our relationship stronger, but I can never get back the time that I pushed him out of my life."

"So how long were you gone?"

"Just a week shy of three months. I don't know what I would have done without Africa. That trip saved me. I found myself again—my true self. Something about the land and animals and the amazing people there healed me. There's something very raw and rugged about it. Yet at the same time it has this gentle and calming quality. Africa forces you to live…to not give up. It's in the genetic make-up of every being on the continent. I swear you can just feel this energy swirling around you. At first, I was very angry and upset, but not at Elliot. Elliot was what he was…that will never change. I was a fool to think I could be loving and faithful enough for both of us. Anyway, I didn't sit around and pine for Elliot. It was more like a sat around and mourned for myself…for allowing myself to take it from him for so long. But I channeled that emotion into my writing, and wrote some of my best work. I was supposed to be writing a series of articles, but Patsy later published them as a book of short stories, along with the photos I took there."

"You're a published author? And photographer? Now why didn't you send me a copy of _your_ book instead of Grey's?"

"Really, it's no big deal. But it is kind of fun to go into a library and find your name at the reference desk."

"I fully expect an autographed copy as soon as you can get me one. Wow Jennifer, that is wonderful!" He couldn't believe how she continually surprised him.

"Well, it's not exactly like it was a best-seller. I think my father bought ninety-nine percent of the copies. But I made a little money off it, which I used to buy this…" She reached down and touched the pendant that hung on the delicate chain.

"Yeah, I was looking at that earlier. What is that? It's not a heart, is it?"

"No, but close. It's Africa. I designed it and had a jeweler make it for me. Just a reminder of how far I've come." She picked up the pendant and moved it back and forth along the chain.

"So did Elliot finally leave you alone after you called him?"

"He did. About a year after I returned, I ran into him at another party. He was with some woman—again, much younger. He was laughing and carrying on…being his usual, jovial self. I said hello to him and he introduced me to his lady. The classic 'Honey, this is an old friend of mine' routine. I felt absolutely nothing for him except pity."

They lay side by side, wrapped in silence under the plaid blanket for several minutes. Jonathan replayed all her words over in his mind. The more he thought about what she'd gone through, the more he wanted to hold her. Hide her. Love her. He turned to her, laying his arm across her waist.

"All that's over, okay? End of story. Forever."

"Forever?" A faint smile grew on her lips

"And the day after that." He smiled back.

She bit her bottom lip again, trying to hold back a laugh.

"How do you do that?" She asked?

"Do what?"

"Make me feel so damn good." She winked.

"Because I love you." His voice was soft and husky. He was surprised that words he'd never spoken before came so easily. It felt so good to finally connect them with the person he'd been searching for all his life. Once more, he reached up and gently swept her hair off her forehead.

"I love you, Jennifer. And you don't have to say anything—not until you're ready. I'll wait. As long as it takes."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Would you mind if we stopped by the suite for just a sec before we go eat? I'd like to change and check-in with _Stephen_." She spoke his name with a heavy English accent.

"Your chariot awaits milady." Jonathan bowed. He pushed her out into the hall and down to the elevator. It was waiting for them. He held the door open as she rolled the chair inside. Jennifer reached for the lobby button on the panel, but Jonathan caught her hand. Using her finger, he pressed the stop button instead.

"Now Jonathan…" She shook her head. "Are you going to stop every elevator that we're in?"

"Only the ones that go up and down."

"Comments like that will get you in trouble." She raised her eyebrow at him.

"Trouble is my middle name." He placed his hands on the armrests of her wheelchair. Bending down, he was once again drawn in by her eyes.

"I thought you said it was Charles."

"In German, 'Charles' means 'trouble'…loosely translated, of course."

"Of course." She leaned forward and kissed him. Slowly, his lips moved from hers and found that little spot on her neck that made her laugh.

"So, if Charles means trouble, then what does Jonathan mean?" She tried to contain a giggle.

He looked into her eyes, unable to believe their depth. "It means _completely crazy for Jennifer_."

XXXXXXXXXX

They cruised through the streets of Los Angeles completely unaffected by the traffic. Billy Joel was still playing. He'd never stopped. Their verbal connection was intoxicating, and Jonathan could not believe how they could jump from topic to topic, silly to serious, and it was right as rain. She placed her hand on top of his, gently massaging his pinky as it rested on the gear shift. Glancing down at her own pinky, she was startled for a moment, but then remembered that her ring was hanging securely around his neck. She'd rarely taken her ring off since her father had given it to her. But somehow, knowing that he was wearing it made her feel even closer to him. She reached up with her right hand and found the pendant around her neck. Again, she pulled it back and forth across her chain. Her mind wandered back to the conversation they'd shared in his bed. She'd told him everything about Elliot. Words she thought she might never utter again seem to flow effortlessly from her. And for the first time, it was as though she were just merely telling him the story of someone else. For the first time, she'd been able to disconnect herself from her past. A past that would no longer define her. And it was right as rain.

When they pulled up to her hotel, Jennifer turned to him.

"Listen, why don't you wait here? If you'll just get my chair, I can be back in two shakes."

"And not go in and say hello to your father?"

Jennifer sighed and nodded in agreement. "I guess you're right…but it's your funeral." She quietly added under her breath.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I said you're probably right. Let's go."

Jonathan pushed her through the lobby and out to her suite. Realizing she'd left her purse in the car, along with the card key, she knocked. After a moment the door opened to reveal Stephen Edwards, standing in a robe, clutching his ever present martini.

"Well, you've just missed Happy Hour but I think I can make an exception." He glanced back toward the garden. "Ah yes, I think we have one table in the back where I can seat you."

"Cut that out!" Jennifer gave him a swat on his hip.

"Good evening, Darling. Jonathan." Stephen extended his hand.

"Good to see you again." Jonathan shook his hand firmly.

"So you're sitting here alone, getting drunk on martinis the night before my surgery?" She threw a smile in Jonathan's direction.

"They won't deliver a single drink to the suites here. They insist on providing an entire pitcher. Can't let all that go to waste, now can I?"

"My father…always the pragmatist."

"Would you care for one?" He looked at Jonathan.

"None for me, sir. But thank you."

"And I can't have anything alcoholic. In fact, I have just a few hours left to have anything at all."

"Would you like to join us for dinner?"

Stephen looked at his daughter. He knew that she loved him very much but that she'd much rather dine alone with this man.

"No, I think I shall take a rain check. I have this beautiful suite, this beautiful garden, and this beautiful phone with which to order room service. But you two enjoy yourselves."

"Just give me two minutes and I'll be ready." She patted Jonathan's arm as she wheeled past him toward the bathroom. Quietly, she closed the door, leaving the men alone.

"Come—sit down."

Jonathan followed Stephen over to the sofa in front of the fireplace. Jennifer was right. Something about her father did make him stand up a little straighter—even when he was wearing a robe.

"So, I trust you two had a nice afternoon."

"Very nice, sir."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it." A moment or two of silence passed. He took a sip of his martini and stared out toward the garden. Jonathan felt he should say something…a word of thanks, at the very least.

"Mr. Edwards, I really enjoyed visiting with you earlier."

"Please call me Stephen. I hope the Headmaster was able to put all _academic affairs_ in order for you."

"Yes, sir. He did just that." Jonathan nodded.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Jennifer rolled back into the room; a small bag resting on her lap. _What that woman can do with two minutes._ She looked even more beautiful, which he wouldn't have thought possible.

"Well, are you ready?" She asked.

Jonathan stood. "Yes, ready when you are." He turned and nodded at Stephen, extending his hand once again.

"I'm sorry you won't be joining us. Another time."

"You're not that sorry." Stephen whispered with a smile.

"I have to be at the hospital at six in the morning. Don't stay up all night." Jennifer gave her father a stern look.

"I'm sure I'll be fast asleep by the time you return."

Jennifer bit her lip. It was just something she did. She threw a quick look at Jonathan. "Well I'm not coming back tonight. Call the front desk to give you a wake up call. You can take the limo to the hospital. Just remember to wear something comfortable and bring something to read. It's going to be a long day."

Jonathan's head snapped toward Jennifer. _Did she just say…?_

"Oh, I see." He paused, moving his eyes in Jonathan's direction. "Well, then, I guess this is good-night." Stephen knelled down next to the wheelchair. "I may not see you then until you're out of surgery and Dr. Walsh gives me an all-clear. I love you very much, my darling. I'll be waiting for you when you wake up." He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the cheek.

"I love you too, Pa. Thank you so much for being her with me. I couldn't do this without you."

Stephen stood and took her hands in his. He looked over at Jonathan and nodded.

"Oh, I think you could have…and you'd have gotten along just fine." He gave Jonathan a knowing smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan placed the bag and the chair in the trunk. Once back in the driver's seat, he turned to Jennifer.

"I guess you want me in the hospital as well, is that it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not coming back here tonight? And you decide to let me know while you're telling your father? With me standing _right there_?"

"Hey, I suggested that you just wait in the car, didn't I? But oh no, you didn't want to be rude." She tried to fight back a grin.

"You know something? I was wrong." He smiled.

"Wrong about what?"

"I got confused. Trouble is _your_ middle name." Jonathan grinned and squeezed her hand.

The restaurant was beginning to fill up, and they decided cut dinner short and head to the hospital. They'd visit Max for the allotted time, then go back to the apartment. For the first time in his life, Jonathan was nervous. He wanted everything to be perfect. It would be their first night alone together. Still talking and laughing, he pushed Jennifer toward the door. Suddenly, he stopped. There she was, standing near the hostess counter, her arm linked inside another man's. Jennifer glanced up and saw Jonathan's face, staring toward the entrance. She turned her eyes to the door and saw her too. Angela.

"Oh damn! I left the barbeque fork back at your apartment."

"Don't worry. She probably won't even acknowledge us."

"I'm not worried. If she speaks, she speaks."

He continued to push Jennifer toward the door. _Angela_ _knows I'm here. She's seen my car parked in the handicapped spot by the door._ They were just about to pass behind her when she turned around.

"Jonathan. What a surprise."

"Good Evening, Angela. We were just leaving. Enjoy your dinner." He nodded at the gentlemen standing with her.

"I don't believe you know Cal Young." She reached out and touched Jonathan's arm, forcing him to stop.

The man beside her extended his hand. Jonathan shook it quickly.

"Jonathan Hart. Nice to meet you." He gave a knowing look to Jennifer.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't believe I've had the pleasure of being formally introduced to you. I'm Angela Kirkley." She held out her hand. "Jonathan and I are old _friends_."

Jennifer felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. _How on earth could Jonathan have ever been with someone like this?_

Jennifer flashed a bright smile at the couple before her. "No, I don't believe we have." She extended her hand to Angela. "I'm Pollyanna Wheelchair." Her voice was warm and smooth, with just a hint of a southern accent, for added charm. "I hope you two have a lovely evening." She dropped Angela's hand wheeled herself through the door.

Back inside the privacy of Ava, Jonathan howled, impressed with Jennifer's gusto.

"I'm sure if Stephen we're here, I'd be getting a big lecture. But she deserved it."

"I bet she's dying in there right now. That poor guy. He's not going to have a very nice evening, I'm afraid."

"Honestly, Jonathan. I'm really not that way."

He smiled at her with a devilish grin. "Yes, you are."

"Okay I am, but don't tell anyone." She smiled back.

XXXXXXXXXX

They made it to the hospital in plenty of time and found Max wide awake. He was telling a story to a cute young nurse about the time he'd tried to set a jitterbug record, by dancing for six hours straight.

"Mr. H! How are you?" His voice was still shaky, but filled with joy as soon as he saw Jonathan's head poking around the curtain.

"We're great Max. I've brought you a visitor. Actually, I introduced the two of you the other night, but you were pretty out of it. Max, this is Jennifer."

"Nice to meet you. Again, I mean. Sorry if I wasn't much for conversation last time."

"I'm sure you'll make up for that now." The nurse added, smiling as she walked away.

"So how are you feeling since I saw you this morning? Better? No change?" Jonathan's eyes showed their same, genuine concern.

"Actually, I'm feeling okay. I'm ready to blow this joint. Dr. Walsh came by and said that maybe in a day or two I might be ready to move to a regular room."

"They're gonna remove the feeding tube, then?" Jonathan asked.

"That's what he said."

"That's wonderful." Jennifer added.

"Any word from Slats yet?" Max asked Jonathan.

"You won. All three."

"What was the final payout? Do you remember?"

"I think about six bills. It's all taken care of. I'll have it wired directly into your account, okay?"

"Thanks, Mr. H."

Jonathan slipped his hand inside Max's and held it firmly. He stared down at the frail man lying still amid tangled hospital bed sheets. It looked like Max. It sounded like Max. But he still had a long way to go. His hair was finally growing back. He noted a bit more gray in it than before.

"Is there anything I can bring you? I'll be back up here early in the morning. Jennifer is having her surgery."

"You're having surgery?" Max looked at her.

"Yes. With Dr. Walsh. I'm having a spinal tumor removed in the morning."

"Well, best of luck. I really like Dr. Walsh. But he makes a better surgeon than a barber." Max's eyes shot up toward his forehead.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I can't get over the change. He looks so much better."

"Yep. I think he's gonna make it. He's really looking good. He's not one hundred percent by any means, but the old Max is still in there. I was so afraid that he would be different after the aneurysm and the stroke.

"Different how?"

"Well, you know…just not himself. I guess I was worried that his personality would've changed. Part of me was really scared that he wouldn't remember me or Sarah or even himself."

"Well looks like you don't have to worry about that anymore. And the fact that he may be moved soon is an excellent sign."

"He's already counting on a steak dinner once he leaves ICU."

"He's quite a character. It's obvious how much you care for each other." She reached down and patted his hand, once again touched by the deep caring he had toward Max.

"Hey—change of subject. Do you mind if we make one little stop on the way home? It'll only take us a minute. I need to get something to take to the hospital tomorrow." He asked.

"Of course not."

"Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm all set, I think."

"Well, you'll probably be out of it all day tomorrow anyway. I can bring you anything you need later on, if you think of something."

They drove in silence for several minutes, their fingers tightly laced together, resting on his thigh. The stereo was turned off, and Jonathan hummed the Billy Joel tune that reminded him of her. He had to smile as he thought about how adorable she looked, putting Angela in her place. He stopped humming for a moment, trying to analyze all the events that had occurred in his life in three short weeks.

"Oh, don't stop. I like that song." Jennifer commented once his humming ceased.

"That is a great song. You know he re-wrote it recently. With new lyrics, I mean."

"He did? I didn't know that."

"Well, he wrote it for his ex years ago. And since he has a new lady in his life now, he thought the lyrics should reflect their relationship."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope. You wanna hear it?"

"Do you have it?"

"Not on CD, but I can sing it. I'm no Sinatra, but I have an okay singing voice."

"Absolutely." She answered enthusiastically.

Jonathan cleared his throat. He knew it would be difficult, but he had to keep a straight face.

 _"She's gotta way about her_

 _Don't know what it is_

 _But I don't think I can't live without her_

 _She's got a way of putting_

 _An ex-girlfriend in her place_

 _She'd really like to slap her face, anywhere_

 _She's smart and cool, and quick with quips_

 _Got Three Stooges on her hips_

 _She's beautiful…_

 _With delicious lips_

 _Ohhhh…"_

Jennifer was silent—surprised and touched by his thoughtful humor. Just like everything between them, it was natural and completely effortless. Shaking her head, she revealed a loving smile.

"Damn. That Billy Joel sure can write a song, can't he?"

"Yep." Jonathan commented casually, never taking his eyes off the road.

 **TBC**

 **A review right about now would be delightful!**


	7. Chapter 7

Ava quietly hummed through the streets of downtown Los Angeles. Her passengers sat without talking. The stereo echoed with the sounds of soft jazz; the volume turned down low. Jonathan once again remembered the blind passage he'd read just hours before and it made him smile. They didn't have to always be engaged in dialog. They could converse in other ways. He reached down for her hand and held it tightly. _If it feels this good just to hold her hand,_ he thought to himself. It wouldn't be long until they were back at his apartment. He realized now the truth behind his nervousness. Would she have any _limitations_ , with regard to her slight paralysis? She'd never mentioned it. And it was _her_ idea to stay the night. He gazed out at the road ahead of him, suddenly aware he'd made a wrong turn.

"Something wrong?" She asked.

"I think I zigged when I should have zagged. I'll just make a quick U turn." The street was deserted. He turned Ava sharply and headed in the opposite direction.

"Are you okay? You're suddenly very quiet."

"No, I'm fine. Really."

"Where are we going, anyway?" She gave him curious look.

"Bookstore."

Jennifer looked at her watch. "A bookstore? At this time of night? It's after nine."

"This particular one is always open."

"I should know better than to question anything you do by now." She shook her head with a smile.

Jonathan made several more turns before arriving at their destination. He pulled Ava to the curb and parked.

"Well, now I know where you were when you got mugged." Jennifer eyed the street and buildings around them.

"Not the best part of town, I know. But you're with me so you're safe." He gave her a smile.

"I'd feel better with my barbeque fork."

"You won't need it. Besides, we won't be here long."

"So where is it?" She scanned the street in search of a store front, spying nothing other than a collection of run-down apartments.

"It's not a bookstore per se. It's more of a book palace. C'mon." He said, reaching down for the door handle.

He helped Jennifer into her chair and pushed her into the tired lobby of an aging apartment building. She spied a long row of black mailboxes along the wall. Next to them, a panel of buttons. Jonathan walked to the panel and pressed one - the second button from the bottom. Nothing. He pressed it once again. After several seconds, a man's voice replied.

"Yes?"

"Evening, Doc. It's Mr. H. I need a favor."

"Certainly. I'll leave the door cracked. Come."

Jennifer could tell by the man's voice that he was an older gentleman—perhaps much older than Max. And with his strong accent, she was certain he wasn't American. Jonathan wheeled her down a narrow hallway, lit only by a single bulb. They came to a stop at a red door, the last one on the left—apartment number six. The door was slightly ajar and Jennifer could hear music coming from inside. It sounded like Wagner. Jonathan gave her a sly smile and the door two quick raps with his knuckles before pushing it open. Jennifer wheeled herself in behind him completely astonished at what she found waiting.

"Oh my God…"

"Incredible, isn't it?" He smiled and studied her face as she surveyed their surroundings.

Jennifer felt as though she'd entered some other place in time. The apartment was literally overflowing with books. Enormous bookcases on every wall, lined with rows and rows of books. Small tables and chairs that held books scattered about—books stacked on every conceivable surface. Books stacked on the floor…books on the windowsills. Jennifer recalled the beloved tales of her favorite childhood author, Roald Dahl. This was just the sort of bookstore that he'd create. It was part fantasy, part whimsy, and completely surreal. It was hard to imagine that another world existed outside the red door.

"I have never seen anything like this in my life." Jennifer replied.

"And I trust you never will."

Jennifer turned her head sharply toward the voice she heard from behind her.

"Doc, thanks for letting us browse so late." Jonathan extended his hand to the gentleman.

Jennifer quietly observed him. He was a short, heavy-set man, with curly white hair and thick glasses. She guessed that he was probably close to eighty years old, if not older. He held a china teacup in his free hand, shaking Jonathan's hand with the other. He wore brown baggy pants, a light blue dress shirt, and a tan sweater vest. She couldn't think of a celebrity twin for him but he definitely looked like a character straight from the pages of one of Dahl's novels.

"Anytime is the right time for you. And who is this beautiful woman? She's much better looking than Max." The man turned his smile toward Jennifer.

"This is Jennifer, Doc. She's an avid reader and a published author herself."

Jennifer smiled and held out her hand. "It's very nice to meet you. Your collection is unbelievable."

"I have a few good books, yes." He answered with a grin.

"Well, what's even more amazing than the number of books is the fact that he can remember all of them."

"Yes, they are like my children. I like to know where they are at all times." His voice was soft and comforting.

"I'm curious about your accent. Are you Czech, by chance?" She asked.

"No, but you are close. I'm Polish. Eastern Poland."

"Well, you have a lovely accent."

"Thank you. A compliment from you is worth two from him." He motioned in Jonathan's direction with a wink.

"Listen Doc, I'm looking for a particular book. You may not have it, but I wanted to check with you first." Jonathan crossed the room to a small TV tray in the corner. He picked up a notepad and pencil from it and scribbled something down. He ripped off the page and handed it to the elderly gentleman.

"Well, it's not much to go on but I'll see what I can do. Probably in the other room. I'll be right back." He looked back at Jennifer. "Would you like some tea while you are waiting?"

"No thank you, sir. I'm fine."

"Okay, let me go see." He turned and made his way down the hall.

"Wow. This place is unbelievable. It's like something _out of a book_ —no pun intended."

"I have lots of books back home that lived here once upon a time."

"It must be hard to keep up with all these." She continued to look around in awe.

"Not for Doc. He knows every book in this place. In fact, you can give him a description-no author or title, and chances are he can find it. And he has _rules_ about how things are run around here."

"Rules?"

"Well, he truly feels these books are his children. And to call out one child's name without mentioning all the others is a 'no-no.' So, everything is written down so as not to offend any of _the children_. He's a little eccentric but he knows his stuff. He was a physician back in Poland. And he's a Holocaust survivor. Now _he's_ got some great stories."

"So he's Jewish then?'

"Yes. His name is Hirszberg. Ben Hirszberg."

"He seems like quite a character. How on earth did he acquire so many titles?"

"He buys and sells from all sorts of people—everything from paperbacks to rare books. And every room in the apartment looks like this one."

Jennifer noticed a small tabby cat creep warily into the room. She called out, and the cat made a beeline for her chair. She reached down and gently stroked its head. The cat jumped up in Jennifer's lap, startling her for a moment.

"Friendly little thing." She replied, continuing to pet the animal.

"Maestro, get down from there," Mr. Hirszberg replied, motioning to the cat as he entered the room.

"Oh, he's fine. I don't mind."

"Well, you are in luck. I knew I had seen this one before. I've had it about a year. But now, I send it home with you." He held out a brown paper bag to Jonathan. Taking the bag from him, Jonathan reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"How much do I owe you then?"

"For this one, in such excellent condition, I say seven fifty." He eyed Jonathan through his thick spectacles.

"Well, I don't have anything smaller than a twenty…so please, keep the change."

"You _never_ have anything smaller than a twenty." He responded with a smile.

"Well, late night browsing deserves a big tip. It's the least I can do." Jonathan handed him the bill.

Doc turned his face toward Jennifer and nodded. "It was a pleasure having you in my home. You have a lovely face and a lovely name. It's English in origin, from Guinevere, meaning cheerful. Did you know?

"No, I don't think I ever knew that." She shook her head, glancing over at Jonathan.

"She was Arthur's queen, you know."

"Yes, I remember." She looked to Jonathan again; this time with a shy smile.

"Jonathan doesn't mean Lancelot by chance, does it?" He winked back at Jennifer.

The old man shook his head and grinned. "No, I don't believe so. But wait a minute." He crossed the room to one of the bookcases. Running his hand along the row of books, he watched the two of them from the corner of his eye.

"Here it is." He pulled the book from the shelf and walked back to Jennifer.

"A gift from me to you. This was a passion of mine at one time but not anymore. My eyes are so tired that I am beginning to have difficulty enjoying my favorite pastime and livelihood. Please, enjoy."

Jennifer stared at the cover. It was a beautiful leather bound volume of genealogy.

"I couldn't possibly accept this. It's really beautiful, but you should keep it."

"No, I want you to have it. You will have a good time reading it. I used to study and trace genealogy for some of my friends and customers. But I don't anymore. Please, take it." He patted her arm with grandfatherly affection.

Jennifer looked at Jonathan, unsure what to do. He nodded—closing his eyes for a moment. She knew she had his blessing.

"Thank you so much. This is quite unexpected. I know I will enjoy it for many years." She extended her hand to him and he shook it warmly.

"Maestro down—now!" He gave the cat a gently swat near his tail. The cat hopped down and retreated around the corner.

"Let me give you something for that book, Doc." Jonathan reached again for his wallet.

"No. Absolutely not. As many times as you have overpaid me I think you have plenty in your account to cover this." He gave him a nod.

"Alright, then. We thank you…for everything."

They made their way back through the red door and out into the hall. Jennifer turned and gave him one last smile.

"Good night, Doc."

"Good night, Cheerful. And good luck tomorrow." He quietly closed the door. Jonathan pushed Jennifer back outside where Ava was waiting for them. As they pulled away from the curb, Jennifer shook her head, puzzled.

"Jonathan, did you tell him about my surgery?"

"No. Why?"

"Because he wished me good luck for tomorrow."

"Yeah, he did say that. I don't know. Like I said, he's a little eccentric."

"But very sweet." Jennifer ran her hand across the book in her lap. "I wonder why he wanted me to have this."

"He liked your name and your face. Just two in a long list of incredible features."

XXXXXXXXXX

The elevator stopped at the top floor. He gave her a playful grin as he reached for the emergency stop button on the panel.

"Jonathan!" She hissed.

"Just kidding."

He pushed her down to his door and fumbled for his keys. Once inside his apartment, he emptied his pockets in the bowl by the phone, placing Jennifer's book and the brown paper bag next to it.

"One last nightcap before time's up?" He asked.

"I'm fine, but you go ahead."

"You mean drink alone? That's no fun."

"Well, I guess you could pour some water in a martini glass. We could pretend I was enjoying a cocktail with you."

"One water coming up. Will that be shaken or stirred?"

"Shaken, with two ice cubes please." She rolled over to the coffee table in front of the sofa. Carefully, she removed her earrings and watch, and placed them on the table in front of her. She gave her earlobes a slight rub before lifting herself out of the chair and onto the suede cushions of the sofa.

"Need any help?" He asked.

"No, I got it."

Jonathan went to work behind the bar. He decided on a small Scotch and soda for himself and poured Jennifer's drink. He flipped on the stereo as he made his way over to her.

"Here you are. My first H2O martini. Enjoy!" He placed the drink her hand , then kicked off his shoes.

"Thank you. Cheers!" She tapped her glass against his.

"Let me ask you a question that's been bugging me for days." He settled himself next to her.

"Okay…"

"You said you're a gin drinker. But you always order _vodka_ martinis. Why is that?"

"Simple. My father made me my first martini and he only drinks them with vodka. So, that's the taste I acquired. If I'm just having a highball, then it's gin and tonic."

"You're really close, the two of you?" He asked.

"Yes, we are now. Growing up without my mother was really hard at times. But my father was great. Still is. Of course we've had our share of tough times when I pushed him out of my life for one reason or another. But no matter how hard I pushed, my father was always steadfast. He's never waivered in his love for me, though there have been plenty of times I've disappointed him over the years."

"That's how parents are supposed to love."

Jennifer reached over and rubbed his arm. She couldn't help but think about his young life.

"I guess you think about your parents a lot, huh?"

"Yeah, I do. I go to bed every night and wonder if tomorrow will be the day I stop thinking about them. I don't know where I came from."

"Surely there are records somewhere…"

"If there are, I've never found them. Believe me, I've looked. Somewhere there are probably stacks of paper all about my life. I may never know. But the need to know isn't as great as it once was."

"Oh, Jonathan, I am so sorry. That must be so hard for you."

"I've learned to accept it. I'm just thankful that Max entered my life. And now you." He reached over and rubbed her shoulder gently. She leaned her head to the side, resting her cheek against his hand.

"So how did you meet Doc? He seems like a fascinating man." Jennifer smiled, hoping to change the subject.

"I used to see him in the mornings at the bus stop near my office. We struck up casual conversation. One morning, he saw I had a book with me. I think it was Heart of Darkness—you know, Joseph Conrad. Anyway, we started talking about books and he told me he had a few back at his place and that if I was ever in the market for something, I should give him a call. He gave me his card. I think I still have it, actually." Jonathan reached for his wallet and flipped it open. After a moment, he produced a small wrinkled card and handed it to her.

" _B. Hirszberg. Specializing in Used, Rare, Out-of-Print, and Hard-to-Find Books_." She read aloud. "He's some character. I tried to think of a celebrity twin for him but I can't think of anyone."

"He's unique, that's for sure. As far as a twin, though…I've never thought about it." He paused for a moment. "I don't think he has one. He's in a class by himself." He took the card from her and tucked it safely back inside his wallet.

"I was really surprised when he gave me that book."

"Well, obviously he saw something very special in you and he wanted you to have it. I completely understand that." He gave her a loving smile as he continued to rub her shoulder.

"I guess I left it in the car, didn't I?"

"No, I brought it in. Do you want to look at it?"

"For a minute. Would you get it for me?"

Jonathan hopped up and walked to the entry table. He retrieved the book, along with the brown paper sack.

"Here you go." He said, handing her the book.

"So what book did you get?"

"Well, it's a book I've been dying to read. I wanted to have something really good to focus on while you're in surgery tomorrow." He reached into the bag and pulled out a copy of Jennifer's book.

She couldn't help laughing. Taking the book from him, she shook her head in disbelief.

"Give that back. I haven't even looked at it yet." He playfully grabbed the book back. He quietly studied the front cover, amazed to see her name printed on it.

" _Healing Hearts: My Journey through Australia._ How did you come up with the title?"

"These are stories about the triumph of the human spirit in a much challenged environment. Along with healing their own hearts they healed mine as well."

Jonathan flipped the book over to find a stunning black and white photograph of Jennifer. It was a candid shot of her, looking off into the distance. The expression on her face was almost haunting. Her eyes. They were full of…something. He struggled to find the right word. It wasn't sorrow but it wasn't joy either. It was a _knowing_ look—as though a hidden truth had suddenly revealed itself to her.

"Where was this photo taken?"

"I was with some locals who'd driven me out to a wildlife park. We were watching some baby lions at the time. They're fascinating. So amazing and natural and totally unaware of just how beautiful they are."

Jonathan smiled warmly and leaned toward her. "I know someone else who's totally unaware of that _very same thing_." He kissed her earlobe before finding that special spot on her neck.

"Jonathan, you know what that does to me."

"So now you know why I do it." He continued to kiss his way down her neck.

"Now wait a minute. Before we get carried away, we haven't looked at _my_ new book yet."

Jonathan pulled back. "I'd much rather read your freckles."

She gave him a look, reaching for the book beside them.

"First things first. We know what my name means. Let's see what yours means." She flipped to the back of the book and scanned the index. Jonathan watched her, unable to stop smiling.

"Aha! Here it is. _Jonathan. Hebrew_ _origin._ _Meaning Gift of God_." She looked up at him. "That describes you perfectly."

"Let's see if Doc was telling us the truth…" He flipped back to the index for a moment before thumbing his way to the middle of the book. " _Jennifer. Welsh_ _origin. Variant of Guinevere. Meaning fair one_. Well, he was right. But I'm not surprised. You've never told me your middle name."

"It's Claire. It's my mother's middle name and my grandmother's name."

"Okay…" He flipped the pages of the book. _"Claire. French origin. Variant of Clare, Clara, meaning bright._ So you, Ms. Edwards are one bright, fair woman. But I hardly needed this book to tell me that."

She took the book back from him. "My turn." She found the index again and within seconds, found the name she was searching for. Turning the pages, she stopped and paused a moment before giving a little giggle.

"What's so funny?"

"I just read the meaning for Angela. It's amazing how this book is so spot-on."

"Well don't keep me in suspense."

She cleared her throat once again. _"Angela. Greek origin. Variant of Angelis,_ _meaning_ …" She paused a moment and laughed.

"Meaning what?" He begged.

"Jealous Alpha bitch."

Jonathan laughed out loud and grabbed the book back from her.

"And you said you _really weren't that way_ —yeah right. What's it really mean?" He eyed the page, looking for her name. "It means _messenger_. That's interesting."

"Well, she did come here to confront you with quite a message. And she returned your robe. That was so nice of her." She replied with a sarcastic tone.

"I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know that her name means _delivery girl_.

"Jus as long as you're not signing for her _package_ anymore." She gave him a look.

"That's something you never have to worry about." He gave her a nod of confirmation. "Shall we see what Elliot means?" Once again he turned back to the index. Finding his name, he read aloud, _"Elliot. Greek origin. Meaning huntsman, rider, pursuer."_ He stopped. "Was Elliot into riding?"

"Oh Elliot loved a good ride. Sadly it was never on a horse."

"O-kay, I think we've had enough literary fun for one night." His tone was serious as he took the book from her hands and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. The last thing he wanted was to stir up unpleasant memories. "We have a very early morning ahead of us and you need to rest."

"But I'm not tired. I knew this would happen if I took a nap."

"Do you want to watch some television? Or a movie maybe? I have a pretty good selection of movies." He reached over and swept her hair back off her shoulder. _No pressure_ , he silently reminded himself.

"What time is it anyway?"

"It's after ten. And we probably need to be up and outta here by five. I want to make sure you're there in plenty of time."

"Jonathan, I'm here in your apartment spending my first night with you. It also happens to be the night before my first major surgery. Put the two of those things together and what do you have?"

"No idea."

"I don't think sleeping is in the cards for me."

He sighed heavily. "Okay, you're the boss. I just want you to be alright for tomorrow."

"Are you okay? Because suddenly it seems like you're the one that's set to go under the knife."

He looked down for a moment, avoiding her question and eyes.

"What?" She asked.

"It's Lorna McCanless."

"Who?"

"Lorna McCanless. She's the first girl I ever kissed. I mean _really_ kissed."

"Lorna McCanless?" Jennifer bit back a grin.

"Yep." He nodded.

"And why, exactly, is Lorna at the forefront of you thoughts?" She tried to fight back a smile.

"Well, if you must know…" He held out his hands to her, palms up. Jennifer took them in hers, examining them with a discerning eye.

"Sweaty palms?" She shook her head. "Are you nervous about something, Mr. Hart?"

"Just like that night with Lorna. Sweaty palms and all. I mean, what did you expect? I've been sitting here staring at your naked earlobes…"

Jennifer laughed. "And with all your _experience._ I am surprised."

"Can I just say something? Seriously?"

"Of course."

"I don't want you to think that spending the night has to mean _spending the night_."

"Jonathan, why does everything have to be so _defined_? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"I'm just _concerned_ , that's all."

"Concerned?"

"Yes. I'm concerned."

"About what?"

"About you…about _us_ …" He shook his head, unable to find just the right words.

Jennifer looked at him for several seconds. Finally, she could see it in his eyes. It was the same look he had when he nervously helped her out of her wheelchair that first time in the park.

"Oh, I see…" She nodded at him. A moment of silence passed. "May I ask you a question?" She looked at him with a curious expression in her eyes.

"Of course."

"NASCAR or Grand Prix? What's your preference?"

"Grand Prix. Why?"

"Do you ever bet on the races?"

"Occasionally." He was unsure where she was going with her unusual line of questioning.

"You wouldn't place a bet on a car with four flat tires and a stripped engine, would you?"

"Well…no…"

"Neither would I. I only bet on those cars that come to the starting line _fully equipped_ and ready to run the long race." She gave him a wink.

"So what you're saying is…"

"What I'm saying is… 'Gentlemen, start your engines.'"

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan lay in bed, quietly eyeing Jennifer's book. Her photographs were amazing. She had a real eye for capturing the essence of her subjects. He could hear the water running behind the closed bathroom door. All the nervousness he'd felt earlier was gone and had turned to anticipation. The woman he loved was just on the other side of the doors. And in minutes, she would be by his side. In his bed. Realizing he'd read the same line three times, he closed the book and placed it on the bedside table. _Wait. No alarm clock._ He slipped out of bed and made his way down the hall to Max's bedroom. Flipping on the light, he quickly found and unplugged Max's clock and carried it back to his bedroom. He could hear Jennifer humming as he set the alarm for the early morning that would arrive too soon. He turned on the radio and set the dial to a station that played smooth jazz. After turning off the overhead light, he gave the lamp a click and climbed back in bed. The bathroom doors opened and Jennifer wheeled herself into his room.

"I hope you don't mind but I borrowed your top. I was in such a hurry back at the suite that I forgot to bring something to sleep in." She looked down shyly.

"My pajamas have never looked better." He spoke with that husky tone that made her tingle inside.

"Well, you get your first taste of the _real me_ sans makeup."

"Jennifer, you're beautiful…with or without makeup on."

She rolled the chair over beside the bed. Jonathan moved across to her side and stood up. "Stay here…I'll be right back."

He bent down and kissed the top of her head before turning and walking down the hall. Jennifer looked around the room, observing how it appeared different at night, lit only by the lamp on his bedside table. She wrestled with a string of uneasy thoughts and lost. She couldn't restrain the thoughts of Elliot that slithered into her mind. Closing her eyes, she remembered that last night she'd been in his bed. He was drunk and loud. She could still feel his rough hands on her shoulders—pinning her down. There was nothing caring or gentle about their lovemaking. It was cold—devoid of any sort of real emotion or connection. To even call it lovemaking would be a lie anyway. She and Elliot had sex. Love had nothing to do with it.

"You aren't fallin' asleep on me already, are you?"

She opened her eyes when she heard his voice. He'd slipped back into the bedroom, but she hadn't heard him. She spied a candle in his left hand and two books in his right.

"No, I was just relaxing." She lied.

"Good. I want you to totally relax. You have quite a journey ahead of you." He crossed back to his side of the bed, placing the candle and the books beside the lamp. "Now then..." He crawled across the bed and stood beside her. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her from the wheelchair. He was strong. The way he gently placed her on the bed made her feel like a baby bird that had fallen to the ground and was being placed back in its nest. She watched him walk back around to his side of the bed. His chest was bare, except for her pinky ring hanging from the gold chain. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he checked the clock once more.

"I've set the alarm for four-thirty. Is that okay? I can go earlier or later, whatever you like."

"No, that's fine."

He turned over to face her. Without her makeup on, he could really see her freckles. She looked like a little girl lying next to him. A little girl with the tempting body of a woman. His eyes traveled down the length of her again, just as they had earlier that day. He studied her legs for a moment. They were long and shapely—a dancer's legs. And her soft, creamy skin called out to him. She'd flipped the cuffs back on his pajama top and he could see her delicate, pale wrists peeking out. Intentional or not, he noticed that she'd missed the top button on his shirt. Reaching out, he tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I want to show you something." He turned and reached behind him, grabbing one of the books from the bedside table. "Have you ever read this one by your dear friend Edith?" He asked, handing her a small paperback book.

"Did you get this from Doc?"

"No, I've had it for a while. I remembered it at dinner. Have you read any of them?"

She sat holding the book of short stories, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked down at its cover. For a moment, Jonathan thought he saw her hands tremble.

"What?" He asked.

"How many books do you think you have? If you had to guess."

"I don't know. Lots. Several hundred at least. Why?"

"How could you possible just pull this particular book down from your shelf? It's unreal."

"Why?"

"Because there's a story in this book that was once the holy scripture of my life." She flipped open the book and scanned the table of contents.

"What story?"

"It's called _The Fullness of Life._ " Finding the right page, she paused again as she began reading the words silently to herself. "I haven't thought about this story in a very long time."

"What's it about?" Jonathan noted a far-off look in her eye. _Maybe I should have left this book on the shelf_. She didn't respond immediately. She just continued to stare at the words on the page.

"It's about me. The _old_ me. But the ending is tragic—I hate the ending. She should've rewritten it before she died."

"Okay, now you have really peaked my curiosity. What's it really about?"

"It's about a woman who dies and is met in the afterlife by the Spirit of Life. The Spirit asks her to choose the path of her afterlife…between duty and destiny." She paused once more before continuing. "The story is timeless but the _old Jennifer_ definitely belongs in the past."

Jonathan noticed a hint of melancholy in her voice. He could tell that it was time to move on to another subject.

"Would you like for me to read to you a little while from _The_ _Age of Innocence_?"

"No, I don't think so. I'd rather just talk. I won't get to talk to you all day tomorrow. At least, I won't remember it if I do."

"Are you scared?" He asked, taking the book from her and replacing it near the lamp.

"A little. But hopefully Dr. Walsh will be able to get the entire tumor. And with the new technology, I don't think he'll have to fuse my spine."

"I'll be right there when you wake up. I know everything will be fine."

"It's not the surgery that worries me. It's what pathology tells me when they biopsy the tumor."

Jonathan hadn't allowed his mind to go there. They had never discussed the "C" word…and he wasn't about to now.

"Well, I know it will be okay. It just has to be."

She sighed. "I'm so glad that you'll be there with me. And with my father. Just knowing that you'll be with him in the waiting room makes me feel so much better. I hated thinking about him sitting there by himself."

"We'll take care of each other while Dr. Walsh's taking care of you. Maybe I'll take him down to visit Max."

"I think he'd like that. He and Max would probably really hit it off."

"And I plan to read your book. So that should keep me out of trouble."

"Can someone whose middle name is Trouble actually stay out of trouble?" She smirked.

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow."

"Why wait until tomorrow?" She reached out and ran her hand across his chest. He placed his hand on top of hers and held it firmly.

"Jennifer?"

"Yes?" She looked into his eyes.

"I want this to be the way you want it to be."

She looked down at his hand wrapped firmly around hers. Bringing her eyes back to his, she nodded.

"I've never known anything to feel more right in my life."

Looking into her autumn eyes, he knew she felt safe... and that he couldn't wait another minute. With a tender touch, he smoothed her hair back across the pillow. She closed her eyes and she felt herself falling as her body drifting away to somewhere else. A tiny shiver ran through her as she felt his lips lightly brush against hers. He teased her mouth as he moved his lips across hers, letting them hover just above hers, barely touching. Tenderly, he kissed her top lip first, then slowly moved down and kissed her bottom lip. The smoky sounds of David Sanborn's saxophone on the radio filled the air around them. Lightly, she ran her hands across his back, drawing little circles with her fingers on his shoulders in time with the beat of the music. His hands found their favorite spot in the warm comfort of her hair. She could feel her pinky ring bounce lightly against her neck, as he ran a circle of tiny kisses around her mouth. Suddenly, he stopped and pulled away. Jennifer opened her eyes to find him looking down at her with a serious expression.

"Are you okay?" He whispered lovingly.

"Yes." She spoke in a breathless voice.

"I've waited my whole life for you." He reached and touched her cheek.

"So let's stop waiting." She smiled as she brushed a piece of hair off his forehead.

Leaning down, he found her lips again. He couldn't hold back. He kissed her hard and deep, as though he was drowning and she was his only source of air. He breathed in her warm, sweet breath, letting it fill his lungs. He felt her body respond beneath him; her hands gliding down his back and coming to rest on his hips. She pulled him closer, running her fingers just inside the waistband of his pajama bottoms. His lips moved lightly across her cheek and down her neck...finding her special spot.

"Hold that thought…" He whispered, sliding back away from her.

"What's wrong?" She asked in a confused tone.

He didn't answer. He turned his back to her for a moment, sitting up on the edge of the bed. She heard a match strike, and a second later, the click of the lamp switch. The room was dark, except for the faint flicker of the small votive on the bedside table. He turned back over, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Looking into her eyes, he shared his warmest smile ever. And in that moment, _he and she understood each other without a word_ _._ Jennifer's hand found his mouth and she gently traced the outline of his lips with her index finger.

"I love you, Jonathan." She whispered.

He kissed her with a softness she'd never felt before. His hand traveled from her hair, down her neck, along her chest, stopping at the buttons on her shirt. Slowly, he unbuttoned each one in between tender kisses. He slipped his hand inside, feeling her warm velvety skin against his hand. Resting his hand on her stomach, he looked down at her again.

"I love you, Jennifer. God, I love you."

He pulled his body onto hers. Again, his mouth found her special spot. She drew a deep breath and looked up, watching the shadows of their bodies dance on the ceiling in the light of a single candle. Dozens of images snapped like photos through her mind: a plaid blanket, a kite in the park, laughter at smoky bar, a Zane Grey novel, a porcelain couple dancing inside a carved wooden box. Closing her eyes, she allowed her body to completely slip away as she gave herself to a man…for the first time…in the name of love.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan quietly turned and eyed the clock on the bedside table for the third time. The alarm would sound in twenty eight minutes. Just as he'd predicted, the night had gone into fast forward. The hours had turned to minutes and the minutes to seconds. Somehow, Max's clock suffered the opposite effects as those at the Medical Center. He longed to rewind the night and somehow take back the last few hours in his bed. With Jennifer. The peace and calm of her body next to his in the darkness filled him. His body was a well, overflowing with life for the first time. She was the water his soul needed. He listened to the sound of her breathing for a few moments, hoping she was lost in pleasant dreams. Turning once again, he checked the clock beside the bed.

"It's only a minute later than the last time you look." Her voice was soft.

"How long have you been awake?" He asked, surprised.

"For a while now." She paused a moment, letting out a sleepy sigh. "Oh, where did it go?"

"I was just asking myself that same question?" He reached over and ran his hand down along her bare arm. Her skin was warm, with a velvety richness. The feel of her body against his—he knew he could never go back.

"I knew it would go fast but there will be others. Many, many more. I promise." He leaned over and gently kissed her shoulder.

"What time is it, exactly?"

"It's just after four." He continued to lightly stroke her arm.

"Less than thirty minutes till reveille, huh?"

"Well, thirty minutes _is_ thirty minutes."

Though she couldn't see his expression, she knew that look. She could hear it in his voice. It was what she privately called his _naughty look_. And she couldn't help but laugh.

"And you call _me_ incorrigible?"

"You can't blame a guy for trying, as they say. Anyway, you owe me, Red."

"I owe you for what?" She asked, smiling brightly in the darkness of his room.

"For the lies you tell."

"What lies? What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Mr. Hart, I assure you that I have absolutely no knowledge of whence you speak." She replied.

"Oh, I think you do." He responded. "I did a little investigating, and you, Ma'am, seem to be short one tiny, little tattoo."

Jennifer laughed. "Oh…that. You didn't really believe that story, did you?"

"Of course I did. Like I told you earlier, you have the far superior poker face."

"Well, you've been the one full of surprises lately. I'm just trying to keep up."

"Too late. I've got one more surprise planned for you. But you'll have to promise to wait here for a few minutes until its ready."

"What kind of a surprise? We have to leave pretty soon."

"We've got time. Trust me, it'll be worth it. You'll see."

Jonathan pressed his lips against hers. It had been a few hours since he'd lost himself with her, yet he instantly burned once again with the same intensity that had consumed him. This woman was not only water, but fire as well.

Jennifer lay quietly in his bed. The light of the lamp cast a soft glow in the room. She could hear the sound of running water coming from his bathroom. With Jonathan in the shower, she decided to read for a few minutes until his surprise was ready. Reaching for the book, she checked the clock. In less than two hours, she would be prepped for surgery. For the first time since she'd learned of the tumor, she felt at peace. Her thoughts cart-wheeled back through the last few hours and she smiled. The way he'd held her with a quiet strength. His hands, his touch, his very breath on her skin. The softness of every word he spoke to her. She'd been lost and found, all at the same moment in the faint light of the candle. She'd finally understood what it was for a man and a woman to make love to one another. It was gentle. It was tender. It was… love.

She opened the book and turned to the short story that haunted her mind several years before. Would the words somehow speak in a different tone to her now? Was the old Jennifer gone? The only Jennifer she cared to know was the one that was born in his bed.

Several minutes passed before the door to the bathroom opened. Jonathan peeked out. He had a sly but loving smile, and she instantly smiled back at him.

"Ms. Edwards, your surprise is ready. Is now a satisfactory time?" He spoke to her in a voice that reminded her of her father. It was staunch and direct, and caught her off guard.

"My surprise is in the bathroom?" She asked.

"Yes Ma'am. May I escort you?"

"If you must." She shook her head, grinning.

Jonathan crossed the room, kicking his pajama top out of the way as he stood on her side of the bed. She lay under the covers, only her arms and bare shoulders exposed. He knew he needed to maintain the character of an English butler to pull this off. He'd be walking a very fine line between comedy and taking her back into his arms and refusing to leave his bed.

"Shall I carry you?"

"You mean I have to leave this bed?" She said with a frown.

"Well, if you'd like your surprise, then yes, you'll have to leave this bed."

She reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him down on the bed beside her. _Can't Dr. Walsh wait just one more day_? She put her arms around Jonathan's neck and pulled his face close to hers.

"But I _like_ this bed." She whispered in his ear.

Jonathan did not break character.

"Yes, Ma'am, it is a lovely bed now that you're in it. But you cannot have your surprise in this bed—again, that is."

"Well, maybe you could give me _another_ surprise?" She playfully bit his earlobe.

"I'm so sorry, Ma'am. It seems we are on a very tight schedule this morning. It's absolutely out of the question."

Jonathan pulled the sheets back, revealing her body once again. Everything about her was beautiful. Every line, every curve, every freckle. The task at hand was suddenly made a thousand times more difficult, as the yummy bed called to him too. He carefully slipped his arms around her, lifting her from his bed. She smiled at him again as he turned and carried her to the bathroom. Pushing open the doors, she was surprised to find the light of a dozen candles burning on the other side.

"Jonathan?"

"Surprise." He whispered. "I want you to be completely relaxed and refreshed, so I thought a little spa treatment before we go might be just the thing."

"But I thought…'

"Shhh. No more questions. We don't have much time."

"But you told me you were taking a shower." She started.

"And you told me you had a tattoo." He winked.

Jonathan sat down on the side of the large whirlpool tub with Jennifer still in his arms. Carefully, he helped her slide down into the warmth of the bubbles. He stood and removed his robe, letting it fall to the floor before slipping into the tub behind her. He wrapped his arms around her and her body relaxed against him. Jonathan kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek on it. They stayed that way for several minutes, eyes closed, without speaking a word.

"Cancel the bed. Let's just stay in the tub." She spoke first, her eyes still closed.

"Umm, that's a good idea."

"Jonathan?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you do me a favor?"

"Anything…"

"Would you take off my chain?" Jennifer leaned forward, lifting her hair up off her neck. Jonathan carefully unhooked the chain and placed it on the side of the tub, near a candle. He reached and lifted her hair up once more, lightly kissing the back of her neck.

"You have the most beautiful neck…"

"Hey, now don't go starting what you know we can't finish."

"You're right. I'll put it on the list." He answered in between kisses.

"What list?"

"The list I'm making of everything we're gonna do after your surgery."

"You're making a list?"

"Yep."

"So what sorts of things are on this list, anyway?"

"Lots of things. First, when you come out of surgery, I am going to be right there to tell you how beautiful you are. Then after that, once you're fully awake, we're gonna share that bottle of champagne that I promised. Beyond that, I'd say dancing. Salsa, ballroom, whatever you prefer. And now, I'm adding my personal favorite: starting something that we have to finish."

"I wish we could move that last one to the front of the list."

"Me too." He paused and kissed her head once again.

"I don't know what my recovery will be like. I don't even know how effective this surgery will be or if the tumor is cancerous."

Jonathan closed his eyes at the mention of her last word. Was there such a thing as being too honest? He had kept that thought out of his mind since the moment he'd learned of the tumor. And he was happy keeping it that way.

"Jennifer, I don't want to talk about it. Not right now anyway."

"We'll have to talk about it sometime. It's the way things are. Pretending it's not a possibility doesn't change the fact that it _is_ a possibility."

"I'll put it on the list."

"Jonathan?"

"Here's a possibility. Is it possible for us to just pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist for the next few minutes?"

His voice trailed off. She turned her face up to look at him, finding equal parts love and fear in his blue eyes. He'd always asked her how she felt about the surgery but she'd never once asked him.

"Talk to me."

"I don't know what to say." His tone was serious.

"Listen, I just want to be sure you understand that this may not go according to plan. I don't like thinking about it either. I signed my name to a document stating that I understood the risks involved. Seeing 'death' on that piece of paper was none to thrilling for me."

"Jennifer, please. Can we just stop talking about it? Please?"

"I'm just trying to be realistic."

He paused for a moment, wrestling with the unpleasant thoughts running through his mind.

"Reality is over-rated."

Though he'd hadn't meant it to be, his last comment was snappy. He reached for a sea sponge on the side of the tub. Gently, he scrubbed her back, and once again the room was silent. Making tiny circles on her shoulders, he knew he should apologize. Again, his fear presented itself in the form of selfishness. He knew he should be solely focused on her needs. If she needed to discuss it, if it somehow made her feel better or more secure, then he needed to be a better listener. Another minute passed quietly with only the sounds of water droplets falling from the sponge filling the air around them.

"I'm sorry." They spoke in unison.

"Jonathan, listen…"

"No, me first. I don't know why I'm acting this way. I understand everything you've said. And I don't care what your recovery involves. I'm not going anywhere."

"No, I'm not being fair to you." Jennifer breathed a heavy sigh and shook her head. "I guess there's just a part of me that feels I need to offer you an out, for whatever reason. Fear of being hurt again, I guess. Same old baggage. I thought after last night I'd be free of it. I was so sure of it just a few minutes ago. But I've carried it around for so long now. I guess it'll take me a little while to get used to traveling light." She sighed again and closed her eyes.

Jonathan dropped the sponge in the water and wrapped his arms around her neck. He'd never known any woman to feel so good in his arms. He held her close for several moments, then spoke.

"I love you, Jennifer. The thought of anything happening to you scares me to death."

"Me too." She responded softly after several silent moments.

XXXXXXXXXX

With one hand on the steering wheel, Jonathan found hers with his other and gently rubbed her thumb as they quietly made their way to the hospital. They'd make it on time, but without a minute to spare. He thought about how natural it'd felt to go through the motions of his morning routine with her there in his apartment. She could make something as simple as shaving or a cup of coffee feel special. Every look, every word—special. Would he ever be able to wake up without her? The next few days would be trying. Time to look for the silver lining again.

"How 'bout some music?" He asked, as he released her hand and reached for the stereo knob. Quickly, she pulled his hand back, gripping it tightly in both of hers.

"Actually, I want to apologize again for our exchange. I ruined a perfectly wonderful moment. One that we might not have again for a while. I'm so sorry." She looked over at him, her eyes beginning to tear.

Glancing at her, he could see she was on the brink.

"Hey, it's okay. I promise." He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it tenderly. "And you were right, about everything you said. We'll pray and hope for the best. But we'll deal with whatever happens _together._ Alright?"

She stared out the window. It was several moments before she responded to him. The old feelings of insecurity were still lingering in the back of her mind. Jennifer had always been skeptical of a _sure thing_. Things that we're supposed to last forever…things like childhood, mothers and lovers… just didn't. She looked down at her hand, wrapped securely in his. Watching the way he gently moved his thumb across hers, she knew her thoughts were irrational. Clearing her throat, she spoke to him in a soft yet serious tone.

"As scared as you are of something happening to me, I'm that scared of something happening to you." She kept her gaze fixed on their hands.

"But nothing's gonna happen to me." He said, reassuringly.

"Yes, you say that now. But Jonathan, you have Max to think about. He should be your first priority."

"You know what? You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" She asked.

"Can't we just concentrate on the next several hours of getting you through surgery and into recovery?"

She looked down at her pinky. With the ring around his neck, she had nothing to focus her nervous energy on. Instead, she traced the outline of his fingers in her hands.

"You're right. I'm sorry… _again."_

"Jennifer, let me tell you a story. Then maybe you'll understand where I am in all this. Okay?"

"Okay." She continued to trace around his hand.

"There's this family, traveling out of town on vacation. Mom, Dad, Kid. Bags packed in the back of the car. They're heading out for a week of fun. Everything is going great, when boom!—they're involved in an accident. The dad is alright, but his wife and child are in serious condition and have to be taken to the hospital. They're going to survive, but the doctor tells him that their recovery may be slow and that he will have to bear the brunt of their care. The doctor suggests that he make a choice of which person to care for, either his wife or his child, because it will be difficult for him to care for both." Jonathan paused and looked over at Jennifer.

"Well, how could he possibly choose between his wife and his child? That's ridiculous…" The words had barely left her mouth when she realized the metaphor of his story.

"So why would you ask me to do the same thing?"

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back on the headrest and tried to relax. _By this time tomorrow, it'll all be over_. She tried to imagine her surgery as a breaking story with a strict deadline but it was no use. Normally, she was in control of her own stories. Dr. Walsh would be writing this one. She opened her eyes just as Jonathan pulled up to the main doors of the hospital. He retrieved her wheelchair and pushed her just inside the lobby.

"Why don't you go on up and check in while I park, then I'll be up. It's the surgical waiting area on two, right?"

"Yes." She replied with a shaky voice.

He could hear the uncertainty in just one word from her. Bending down, he took her face in his hands. He could see doubt and worry in her eyes—those beautiful, autumn eyes that bore right into him.

"I'll be right there." He smiled and kissed her gently on the forehead. He stood and turned, walking back through the main doors. He didn't look back, as he wiped a tear from his own eye.

He found a parking space on the first level of the parking garage. With the ignition off, he sat frozen in his seat. Leaning his head against the steering wheel, he closed his eyes and prayed. It would be the first of several conversations he'd have with God.

XXXXXXXXXX

The elevator doors opened and Jennifer rolled herself toward the second floor surgical area. Rounding the corner, she saw him. Stephen stood at the desk, chatting quietly with a nurse. She was surprised to find that he'd taken her advice. He was dressed in khaki pants and a golf shirt with a lightweight jacket draped over his left arm. This was as casual as Stephen Edwards could be. The man didn't own a pair of jeans. Jennifer couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him in shorts. And forget a swimsuit _._ Seeing him there made her feel better. There was something about being in the presence of her father that filled her with a feeling of security. As if told by a sixth sense, Stephen stopped talking mid-sentence and turned around.

"Well, I was just checking to see if you'd called in sick. I was afraid you weren't going to make it."

"Good morning, Pa. I wasn't sure I'd get to see you before I went in."

"Good morning, my darling." He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"How long have you been here?"

"Oh, just about ten minutes is all. Where's Jonathan?"

"Parking the car."

"Lana?"

"Ava."

"Oh, right…Ava."

Jennifer had never once in her life shared a conversation with her father the morning after sharing a bed with a man. She knew it wouldn't make her list of favorite things.

"So, we're you able to sleep last night?" He asked.

"For a little while. I woke up about three-thirty and never really fell back asleep."

"No more bad dreams, then?"

"No." An awkward moment passed between them. Luckily, the nurse behind the desk motioned to them, breaking the tension.

"Jennifer Edwards?"

"Yes."

"I'll let Dr. Walsh know that you've arrived."

"Thank you," Jennifer smiled.

"And just so you know, we're running a few minutes behind schedule this morning." The nurse added.

"Oh, okay. No problem." She turned again to her father, motioning toward the waiting room chairs. "Would you prefer a window or aisle seat, sir?"

"Anywhere is fine."

Stephen followed as she led the way to a small grouping of chairs closest to the information desk. He sat down and Jennifer wheeled up to face him. He reached out and patted her knee.

"How are you feeling, Darling?"

"I'm okay. I know what I'm feeling is normal. It's just the fear of the unknown since I've never had surgery before."

"Yes, I know. You've always been healthy as a horse. But I promise you that everything will be just fine. We'll be right here when you wake up."

The nurse approached them, taking the seat next to Stephen. "Ms. Edwards, my name is Cathy. I'd like to quickly go over what's going to happen this morning."

"Oh, would you mind waiting until my…" Jennifer stopped suddenly. Until my what? My _boyfriend_? My _lover_? My _soulmate_? She didn't exactly know what to call him. Luckily Stephen finished her sentence for her.

"Yes, would you mind terribly if we waited for my daughter's friend. He's just parking the car. He'll only be a moment and I know he'll want to hear this."

"Certainly. I'll check back in a few minutes." She stood and returned to her seat behind the desk.

Jennifer smiled and shook her head. _He always knows just what to say_.

"I love you, Pa."

"And I love you." Stephen glanced behind her and gave a wave. Jennifer turned to see Jonathan walking towards them. Though she'd only been away from him for a few minutes, it'd seemed like forever. How would she survive the nights in the hospital away from him? If only she could get his yummy bed up on the second floor…

He extended his hand to Stephen. "Good morning, sir. Don't get up." The two men shook hands. Jonathan took the seat next to Stephen and patted him lightly on the back.

"How are you this morning, Mr. Edwards?"

"Stephen, remember? I'm fine. And you?"

"I'm fine. But I'll be better once we get this surgery behind us." He winked and exchanged a warm smile with Jennifer.

Stephen looked at his daughter as she held the gaze of the man next to him. There was a look in her eyes that he'd never seen before. A look that told him his daughter was no longer just a _she_ , but was now part of an _us_. The singular Jennifer was gone. He knew from this point on, they were a matched set. A package deal.

He looked up as Cathy approached them again. She smiled and took the seat the empty seat beside Stephen.

"Dr. Walsh will be here shortly. He likes to walk his surgical patients down to discuss his game plan once more and answer any last minute questions. You can leave your wheelchair here. We'll take you down in one of ours. You won't need it again until you're discharged. You'll be prepped and then taken into the OR. Once the anesthesiologist has taken you under, an OR nurse will call the desk here in the waiting area to let family members know that the surgery is underway. The OR nurse will call every half hour of your surgery with an update for the family. We believe in keeping the family informed so that the wait is not so unbearable. At the completion of surgery, you will be taken to the post anesthesia care unit for a period of observation—usually about an hour. During this time, Dr. Walsh will be meeting with the family to discuss everything that occurred during the surgery. Visitors are not allowed in the PACU. When you are cleared to leave the PACU, you will be taken to another recovery area. This is where we then allow family members to see you, one at a time, for a period of five minutes. No children under the age of fourteen are admitted in the recovery area. After a couple of hours, you will be admitted to a private room. Once in your private room, you are allowed as many visitors as you feel comfortable seeing. Dr. Walsh will strongly caution you about limiting visitors the first couple of days."

Jonathan looked at Jennifer. _Is she even listening_? Her expression was distant but he knew it didn't really matter. She wouldn't remember any of Cathy's spiel in a few hours anyway. Jennifer nodded at the nurse, but didn't say anything.

"Thank you very much. I feel better knowing that we'll be given updates throughout." Stephen smiled at the nurse.

"Right on time." The nurse eyed Dr. Walsh walking with rapid pace toward them. She approached him and after exchanging a few words, she returned to her seat at the desk.

"Good Morning Team Edwards!' His voice was positive and upbeat. Jonathan was surprised by the blue print surgical cap he wore, covered with pictures of tiny fishing lures. For some reason, Jonathan could not picture Dr. Walsh in waders casting a rod. At any rate, he hoped his fishing skill would help him land Jennifer's tumor in full. Stephen and Jonathan stood and exchanged handshakes with him.

"Jennifer, how are you feeling this morning?"

"Okay I guess."

"Okay? You should be scared to death." He smiled.

"I should? And why is that?"

"Then you'd be feeling normal. That's how everyone feels before surgery. I'd be concerned if you weren't. Now, Cathy said she'd gone over the routine with all of you. Are you ready then?"

"I guess so."

"Did you make a selection, or are you going to flip a coin?" The doctor smiled and pointed to the gentlemen beside her.

Jennifer traded puzzled looks with Jonathan and her father.

"I'm not sure what you mean." She replied, confused.

"Maybe Cathy forgot to tell you. One person is allowed to go with you before you're prepped. You'll store your belongings in a locker that's been assigned to you. You'll change into a gown, and then wait until you are picked up and taken to prep."

Jennifer looked at Jonathan, then at her father. She remembered the story he'd told her on the way and making the choice between family members. Stephen cleared his throat before speaking.

"Shall we arm wrestle for it then?' Stephen asked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of Rock-Paper-Scissors," Jonathan answered.

"Evens and Odds?" Stephen added.

"Thumb wrestling?" Jonathan smiled.

"Enough you two." Jennifer shook her head.

"Alright Jonathan, you take her. At this rate, we'll be here all day. And I'm hoping to be back at the suite enjoying the afternoon cocktail hour by five." He bent down and hugged his daughter.

"I love you. I'll see you soon, my darling." He whispered in her ear.

"Okay, Pa. I love you too."

They exchanged a warm embrace. Jennifer could smell her father's signature aftershave and it helped calm her nervousness somewhat.

Jonathan wheeled her along side Dr. Walsh as they rounded the corner and walked toward the large double doors to the operating wing. They listened carefully as Dr. Walsh briefly discussed what would happen.

"How long do you think the surgery will last?" Jonathan asked.

"That's always tough to answer. I never really know until I get in there."

Jonathan pointed at his surgical cap. "I hope you catch the big one for me today."

"I will." Dr. Walsh responded, with nothing but confidence.

XXXXXXXXXX

The holding room was quiet. Jonathan carefully unbuttoned her blouse, sliding his hands up on her shoulders. This would be the last time he'd be able to touch her for a while.

"You're skin feels so good."

"Someone could walk in here any moment."

"So? This is for medicinal purposes."

"Yours or mine?"

"Well, mine of course." He carefully slipped her blouse off and hung it on a hook inside the locker. Next, he removed her shoes and placed them in the locker as well.

"You know something? I never realized male nurses could have so much fun."

Jennifer gave him a look. He knew she wasn't playing around, but he just couldn't help himself. He wrapped his arms around her and found the hooks of her bra, all the while smiling at her.

"Trust me. I'm a doctor." His voice tickled her ear.

"Promoted already? From male nurse to doctor is less than thirty seconds?"

"I'm a quick study." He found the special spot on her neck.

"Jonathan, someone's going to walk in here and I'm going to be humiliated. Now hand me that gown."

"But I just want to look at you and feel you one more time."

His voice was almost a whisper. This time, he wasn't kidding. She could tell immediately from his tone that he was beginning to break. They looked at each other for several seconds—long enough to share a quiet conversation with their eyes.

"I know I've said it before, but I can't stop feeling it. You really are so lovely." He reached out and ran his hand along her neck.

"Jonathan , I…"

But he didn't let her finish. He kissed her long and lovingly and they held each other for a full minute without saying a word.

"You've already healed me." She whispered.

He brushed her hair back off her forehead, giving it a tender kiss. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes. Something about those eyes—he would never be able to be anything other than completely honest with her. Eyes that forced him to look deeper than he ever had at himself. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers. Suddenly, his words were frozen in this throat. Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and whispered.

"I'll be right here waiting for you."

A quiet knock sounded from behind them. Jonathan turned his head toward the door as Jennifer reached and wiped traces of tears from her eyes.

"Ready, Ms. Edwards?" The voice called from behind the door.

"Just a minute." Jennifer answered.

Quickly, Jonathan helped her into the hospital gown. He secured the rest of her things in the locker and turned back to her.

"You know, I'm not a very good liar. I have to be perfectly honest with you."

"About what?"

"I like you better in my pajamas." He tugged at the sleeve of the hospital gown.

"You do, huh?" She smiled back at him.

"Well, actually I like you better _out_ of them."

"I'll make sure and put that on _my_ list."

"Ready to take a ride, Ms. Edwards?" A nurse asked as she knocked and entered.

"I guess so." She turned her eyes back to Jonathan.

"Whatever you do, don't let her drive. She almost ran me down in this hospital." He gave her a wink.

"Don't worry. I'm playing chauffeur." The nurse pushed Jennifer through the doorway.

Jonathan followed behind them as they headed toward another set of large doors. Stopping for one last goodbye, Jennifer turned to him. Jonathan knelled beside her, taking her hands in his. He looked into her eyes and smiled. There were so many words that he hadn't yet said to her. Words to build their forever on. He never wanted to spend another day away from her.

"I'll see you in a few hours, okay?"

"Okay." She took a deep breath, looking down at the floor.

He reached and lifted her chin, looking into her eyes once more.

"I love you. You know that, don't you?'

"Yes…and I love you, too." She whispered.

The nurse entered a code on a small keypad on the wall and the large doors opened. Jonathan held on to her hands, kissing them one last time. Slowly, their hands slipped apart as Jennifer was wheeled away from him. He stood and watched her disappear as the large doors closed.

Alone in the hallway, he reached for the ring around his neck. With eyes closed, he prayed a silent prayer before turning walking back toward the waiting room.

Stephen stood when he saw Jonathan approach.

"Everything okay?" He asked.

"Yes, she's fine." He took the seat next to him.

"I assume it will be a bit before they get started. The nurse there said they were running behind schedule." He motioned in Cathy's direction.

"Would you care for some coffee, sir?" Jonathan asked.

"No, I'm fine. And you needn't be so formal with me."

"Okay Stephen." He smiled and nodded.

"That's better."

They spent the next several minutes engaged in light conversation—the stock market, fishing, and real estate. Stephen glanced over to the chair next to Jonathan.

"I see you found a copy of Jennifer's book."

"Yes. I picked it up last night on our way home from dinner. I've only read a couple of pages, but she's a phenomenal writer."

"I agree. She's always had a gift. Put a pen in her hand and she takes off." Stephen said with a smile.

"Did you bring anything to read?" Jonathan asked.

"No, I'm not much of a book reader. I prefer business news, current events, the Times, the Journal."

"Ah, I see."

"But please enjoy your book. Don't feel as though you have to sit here and entertain me. After the surgery starts, I'll pop down to the main level and pick up a paper for myself."

"Alright."

Jonathan knew he wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything until he had word that Jennifer was safely out of surgery. He reached down for the book and flipped it over. The photograph of her was stunning. He'd never met a more beautiful woman in his life. Again, he touched the ring around his neck, moving it back and forth on the gold chain.

"Is that Jennifer's ring?" Stephen asked.

"Yes, it is. I'm keeping an eye on it for her."

"Did she tell you the story of how she came to have it?"

"She said that you gave it to her for her twenty-first birthday."

"Yes, I did. An insurance policy of sorts."

"Insurance?" Jonathan was confused.

"Daughters have a way wrapping their fathers around their _little fingers_ , you know."

"Oh, I see," Jonathan smiled. "Your _place-holder_ then?"

"Exactly." Stephen nodded.

Jonathan smiled at him. Though he came across with the air of a proper English gentleman, he figured that Stephen Edwards was a character in his own right. Deep down, Jonathan guessed this man was probably a prankster and joker, with a sharp intellect and wicked sense of humor. In fact, maybe Jonathan had more in common with Stephen than even Jennifer suspected. He observed his hands, noting the gold wedding band on his left hand. Had he ever taken it off? Jonathan guessed he was the sort of man who would only marry once, and only for love.

"Mr. Edwards?" The nurse called from behind the desk. Both men stood and walked over. "I just want to let you know that the surgery has started. One of the OR nurses will call with updates about every thirty minutes."

"Thank you," Stephen replied. He turned to Jonathan . "I think I could go for that cup of coffee now. Shall I bring back one for you as well?"

"No, I'm fine. But I'd be more than happy to get it for you."

"Nonsense. I'll go. And I'll see about getting a newspaper." Stephen turned and walked toward the elevators as Jonathan returned to his seat. Again, he eyed the book in the chair next to him. Looking at the picture of Jennifer, he imagined her lying on the operating table. He hated the thought of anything leaving a scar on her perfectly flawless skin. _Life leaves scars..._ he thought as he picked up her book and opened it to a random page. With eyes closed, he drew circles in the air above it. After several seconds, he brought his finger down on the page and opened his eyes.

 _The culmination of their journeys converged at this point. Seeing the dawn break on the horizon was proof that their prayers had been answered. A lone traveler no more, he walked hand and hand with her and their passage into this place of wonder and mystery was filled with hope._

He smiled as he read her words…proof that Fate had once again delivered in full.

 **TBC**

 **Would love a review right about it, if you're so inclined!**


	8. Chapter 8

So engrossed in Jennifer's words, Jonathan didn't realize Stephen had returned until he sat down. Glancing briefly at him, he found his absence had been productive—a cup of coffee in one hand, a copy of USA Today in the other. Stephen removed the lid from the cup and placed it on the chair next to him. He didn't speak, but sat quietly sipping his coffee, staring straight ahead. Jonathan turned his eyes back to her book. He read several lines, then checked the clock on the wall. He compared the time with his watch. He continued to read, amazed at how the printed words spoke to him as easily as if Jennifer were sitting right there, sharing the stories of her travels in the African grasslands. Stephen was right. She was a gifted writer. He could hear her voice in the lines on the page…and the softness of her words relaxed him.

 _Dr. Walsh walked hastily through the double doors of the operating wing. Sixteen years of surgical experience, yet he was never prepared for this part of his job. Sixteen years filled with many medical successes, quickly forgotten in a moment such as this. He found Jonathan in the waiting area reading quietly. Taking a deep breath, he reached up and pulled the surgical cap from his head. At the same moment, Jonathan looked up, surprised by his presence. He knew immediately that something was wrong. Why was he here? Weren't they supposed to be called into the family conference room after surgery? He checked his watch. Surely the surgery wasn't over. The guarded, emotionless look the surgeon normally held had been replaced with one of defeat. Then, he felt it. Like an uncontrollable wave slamming his body against sharp rocks. Something was terribly wrong._

 _"Oh my God…Oh my God…" The words resonated loudly, over and over in his mind. His chest was tight, with the air inside his lungs escaping at a rapid rate. The floor beneath his feet began to shift and fall away. He stood up on a tangle of weakened legs. He wasn't sure how far they'd take him, but he had to get away—far away. Away from Dr. Walsh, away from the waiting area, away from reality. Jonathan stood and quickly turned away from him, violently shaking his head in denial._

 _"Jonathan, you've got to listen to me…" Dr. Walsh chased after him._

 _"No I don't." Jonathan walked quickly toward the elevators._

 _"Jonathan, stop! Would someone please stop that man?" Dr. Walsh hollered and pointed, but Jonathan just increased his pace._

 _He pressed the button for the elevator several times. His head was pounding and the second floor was beginning to disappear. He searched the faces of those around him, some standing, some sitting—all scattered around the waiting area. Their faces were blank and they stared back at him through hollow eyes. He placed his hands against the wall above the elevator buttons, bracing himself._

 _"Jonathan, I'm so sorry. But you have to know the truth. That's the way things are."_

 _"No!" He felt his throat closing up as the air around him stopped. Dr. Walsh reached and grabbed his shoulder, turning him around._

 _"Listen to me. There's nothing we can do. The cancer has spread everywhere. I didn't know until I got in there. I am so sorry."_

 _Jonathan studied his eyes. He scanned them like lasers, noting every speck of color. Were these the eyes of a highly skilled neurosurgeon or the eyes of a liar? He'd allowed himself to trust him. He'd put every ounce of faith in his hands._

 _"No you're not! You lied to me about the whole thing! You knew. You knew all along, and that's why you didn't tell me!"_

 _The doors to the elevator opened and Jonathan stepped inside. He quickly hit the button for the fifth floor._

 _"Jonathan, please! You can't leave like this." The doctor begged._

 _He looked down at the floor, refusing to let his eyes meet Dr. Walsh's. The doors closed and the elevator began its ascent. Alone, he felt sick as he imagined millions of tiny black insects—cancers, swarming and crawling on Jennifer's back as she lay alone in the cold, isolated operating room. The elevator carried him to the fifth floor and stopped._

 _"Please, God…please…" He prayed, harder and louder than he ever had in his life. The doors opened and Jonathan slowly raised his head and looked out. No one was there. The fifth floor was silent. Reaching out, he pressed the Close button on the panel. As the doors closed, Jonathan prayed yet another desperate prayer, pressing the Open button on the panel. Still, the fifth floor was deserted._

 _"Come on…come on!" His tone was filled with exasperation as he repeatedly hit the button to close the doors. Another prayer. Another button. Still no one. Close. Open. No Jennifer._

 _"What the hell is WRONG with this elevator?" He screamed._

"Jonathan?"

Opening his eyes, Jonathan was confused for a moment as to where he was. Stephen's left hand was resting on his arm, while his right hand held Jennifer's book.

"Where's Jennifer?"

"She's still in surgery. They just called with an update a few minutes ago."

"Is she alright?"

"Yes, she's fine. So far, so good. You'd dozed off for a bit and I hated to wake you. Here, you dropped this." He said, handing him the book. "Are you alright? You look quite pale."

"Yeah, I'm fine." He replied, running a hand through his hair.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Bad dream. But I'm okay." Jonathan sat up in the chair, shaken by the images in his subconscious _._ He opened the book once more and continued reading. But he couldn't keep his mind focused. Pictures of tiny black bugs clouded his thoughts. He closed the book and stood, taking a moment for a much need stretch. Stephen glanced at him over the top of his newspaper and smiled.

"Time to stretch the old legs?" He asked.

"I'm too nervous to read."

"Want to try the paper instead?'

"No, I don't think so."

"Jonathan, are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes. I'm just not very good at waiting. You'd think with the amount of time I've spent at this hospital recently that I'd be really good at it."

"Have you spoken with your friend Max yet today?"

"No, but I'll go in to see him once Jennifer's surgery is over and we get to speak with Dr. Walsh."

"He's still in ICU?"

"Yes, but they'll probably be moving him to a private room very soon."

"That's very good news."

"I'd like you to meet him too, if you're up for it."

"I'd like that very much." Stephen smiled.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan and Stephen sat at a large, round table inside the family conference room on the second floor. It had been the longest three hours of his life. Dr. Walsh was on his way and in minutes his questions would be answered. The surgery had taken longer than expected, and Jonathan's first question would be _Why?_ The door to the conference room opened and Dr. Walsh entered, smiling. _Finally, a face full of expression._

"Mr. Edwards, Jonathan, she did great. She's fine." He took a seat across the table from them.

"Oh thank God," Stephen breathed a heavy sigh. Jonathan noticed tears in his eyes. Reaching over, he patted his hand.

"It took longer than you expected." Jonathan's tone was questioning.

"Yes, it did. The tumor was quite smitten with Jennifer. I had a hard time convincing it to let go. We had to stop the surgery twice to allow for rest periods."

"Is that common?" Stephen asked.

"Well, yes and no. We monitor spinal cord functioning with highly sophisticated electrodes during the surgery. If we detect any distress, then we stop for a while until the spinal cord returns to a normal level. We are dealing with a very sensitive area. Rushing is the last thing we want to do."

"But you got it, right?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, I got. All of it. The new technology worked amazingly well.

"Well, the technology is nothing if not in the hands of a professional." Jonathan shook his hand, feelings tears beginning to build in his own eyes.

"She was an excellent candidate. I think she'll do amazingly well during her recovery too."

"When can we see her?" Stephen asked.

"The nurse will let you know when she's been released from the PACU. You can each have five minutes with her. Then, you'll have to wait until she's moved into her private room."

"I can't thank you enough, Dr. Walsh." Jonathan blinked, and a tear fell from his eye.

"No thanks are necessary."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Edwards Family." The nurse called out. Both men stood and walked to the information desk in the surgical waiting area.

"Ms. Edwards has been released from the PACU. You can see her now. You'll need to go down this corridor and through the doors. Turn right and you'll see the scrub room. Wash up, and put on a mask and gown. Another nurse will take you to her."

Jonathan and Stephen walked silently down to the recovery area. They followed the nurse's directions and found the scrub room easily. Once inside, Stephen looked him square in the eye and spoke in a severe tone.

"Okay, this time it's for real. Arm wrestling or thumb wrestling? Winner goes in first."

"Mr. Edwards, I insist that you go in first. She's your daughter, so naturally I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Oh Jonathan, I'm kidding. I know she'll want to see you first. She's had to look at me for years. I'm sure she'd rather you were there with her."

"No, sir. I respectfully put my foot down here. You will go in first." Jonathan gave him a serious look.

"Alright, but I'll be quick."

"No sir, you take the full five minutes."

Jonathan sat down on a bench and watched as a nurse led Stephen down the hallway. He kept his eyes fixed on the man until he disappeared around a corner. Resting his head in his hands, he sighed heavily and said another prayer. She was okay. Max was okay. The worst was over.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Five minutes." The nurse said firmly before she turned, leaving Jonathan alone beside her. He slipped his hand inside hers, giving it a loving squeeze.

"Hi Beautiful." He whispered in her ear. She made a noise, but he was unsure if it was a word. "I am so proud of you." He paused, smiling and taking in every feature of her face. "You were strong. I knew you would be." He let go of her hand, reaching to wipe the tears from his eyes. He bent down, resting his forehead against hers. "Dr. Walsh got it all. It's all gone. You're gonna be fine." His last word was silent, and the tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He closed his eyes and thanked God once more then slipped the mask down and lightly kissed her forehead.

"Jon…" She tried to speak his name.

"Shhh, don't say anything. I'm right here. Just rest."

"You…found…the… room…" Her speech was slurred.

"Yes, I'm right here. The nurse brought me to you."

"You…turned…the handle…and…found…the room…" Her tongue was heavy as she tried to speak.

"Yes Jennifer, I'm here. I found you. I'm not going anywhere."

"I knew...it was you…the holy…your footsteps…" The words slowly trickled from her lips and in a second she drifted off. Jonathan bent down and kissed her one last time as the nurse returned and waited at the door.

XXXXXXXXXX

He knew he should just turn out the light and give himself over to the night, but his mind raced. It seemed like days since he'd been in his apartment. Was it really just that morning that they woke up together? Looking at his bed, he could still see her there. Walking over to her side, he found the top to his pajamas that she'd worn the night before. Bringing it to his face, he could still smell her sweet scent. _It will have to do_ , he thought, as he pulled it on and crawled into bed. Checking the clock, he quickly calculated the hours until he would see her again. He set the alarm for six, noticing the book of short stories. His curious nature would not let him rest without reading the story of her life. The _supposed_ story of her life, anyway. He picked up the book and flipped to the table of contents, finding it was only a few pages long. _What about this story could possibly parallel her life?_

He began reading, trying to ingest the words as Jennifer would. With each line of the story, it all clicked. He read it twice, carefully analyzing each paragraph in his mind. A woman is trapped in a loveless marriage. The woman dies and goes to Heaven, where she meets her soul mate. She is now happier than she's ever been. An angel tells her that all souls are united with their soul mates in Heaven. The woman is relieved knowing that her husband, though a disappointment to her, will find a soul mate of his own. But it's not to be, as the angel tells her that she was his soul mate, and he will wander Heaven in search of her. Bound by duty and honor, the woman leaves her heavenly soul mate to wait for the day her husband will join her.

Jonathan closed the book and silently reflected on the story for several minutes. _No wonder she hates the ending_. Placing it back on the bedside table, he turned off the lamp. The room filled with darkness and silence. No sound. No Jennifer. Thinking back, he recalled the words she'd said to him in recovery... _"You found the room. You turned the_ _handle and found the room_. _I knew it_. _Your footsteps_ …"

Was she dreaming? Was she afraid that I wouldn't find her after surgery? He closed his eyes and prayed again for both Jennifer and Max. Hearing the faint sound of a siren in the distance, it suddenly hit him. He quickly flipped the lamp back on and reached for the book. With a quick scan of the story, he found the passage.

 _"But I have sometimes thought that a woman's nature is like a great house full of rooms: there is the Hallway, through which everyone passes in going in and out; the Drawing room, where one receives formal visits; the Sitting room, where the members of the family come and go as they list; but beyond that, far beyond, are other rooms, the handles of whose doors perhaps are never turned; no one knows the way to them, no one knows whither they lead; and in the innermost room, the holy of holies, the soul sits alone and waits for a footstep that never comes._

He had to read it several times, but it made sense. Jennifer's sleepy words…the room, the handle, the footsteps. _It was this story._ Closing the book once more, he placed it back beside the clock. Before turning the lamp off, he lit the candle. Lying back, he folded his hands behind his head and studied the ceiling. He remembered how her body felt against his. The way she drew tiny circles on his shoulders. Every little touch from her was magic. He was a moth to her flame. Turning over, he looked at her pillow. He could still see the impression made by her head. He reached out and placed his hand on it, imagining her silky auburn hair fanned out across it. The more he thought about how passionate and loving she was with him, the more he was confused by a man named Elliot Manning. How could any man not give himself over completely to her? How could any man not be simply swept away by every look, touch, and smile? Jonathan closed his eyes once more and imagined her lying beside him _._

 _I promise that I will rewrite the ending for you…_

XXXXXXXXXX

The alarm clock sounded for a full minute before Jonathan switched it off. Six o'clock arrived just as it had many times before, though he'd been up since five. Fully dressed, he secured his watch on his left wrist as he walked into the bathroom. He grabbed his shoes and sat down on the edge of the tub. From the corner of his eye he spied it. Jennifer's necklace. Carefully, he picked it up and examined it. _Just a reminder of how far I've come._ With a smile, he carried it back into the bedroom and placed it on the bedside table—the one on _her_ side of the bed. He whistled as he walked down the hall and into the kitchen. He began the task of making his coffee, smiling as he noticed the almost empty bottle of pancake syrup in the pantry. He couldn't help it. Everything reminded him of her. With the coffee pot doing its duty, Jonathan went to the credenza in the living room and opened the top drawer. He found the phone book and sat down on the arm of the sofa. He wasn't sure where to look in the Yellow Pages, so he began in the I's with Invitations. Nothing. _Stationery_? Still nothing. _Engravers?_ No, still not it. Finally, turning to the C's, he found exactly what he was looking for. Picking up the phone, he dialed the number. Though he knew the shop was closed, he knew he could at least leave a message. After three rings, an answering machine picked up and Jonathan waited for the beep.

"Good Morning. My name is Jonathan Hart. I have a rush job that needs immediate attention, no matter the cost. Please call me back as soon as possible."

He left his number, along with the date and time of his call. Slipping his cell phone in his pocket, he turned and walked back to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee in one of Max's favorite mugs. Returning to the living room, he sat down on the sofa. His eyes came to rest on the coffee table, and Jennifer's watch and earrings. He smiled as he took a sip of coffee. Seeing her things around his apartment made it feel like more of a home. The book from Doc was just where she'd left it. Picking it up, he looked back in the index. He found the page number and flipped back toward the beginning of the book. There, he reread the meaning of her name…and he couldn't stop smiling.

XXXXXXXXXX

An attractive woman, in her mid to late fifties, turned the key in the lock and opened the glass door. Once inside, she flipped the sign in the window from Closed to Open. Jonathan sat inside Ava, parked just across the street. Without wasting a moment, he picked up the envelope from the passenger seat and opened the car door. The street was quiet. He quickly crossed and pushed the glass door open. The woman looked up from behind the counter.

"Good Morning. Aren't you the early bird?"

"Good Morning. I called and left a message earlier this morning, but you probably haven't had a chance to listen to it yet."

"No sir, I haven't. What can I help you with?"

"Well, I have a somewhat urgent matter. Something that I need as soon as possible. I'm willing to pay whatever necessary to get this done quickly." He handed the envelope to the woman. She opened it and examined its contents.

"No problem. I think I can have this ready for you within the hour. I'll just need you to make a couple of selections for me."

"Really? An hour is all?"

"Yes, sir." She produced a sample book, placing it on the counter. Jonathan made the necessary selections and she noted them on an invoice. He then glanced at his watch.

Though he hated to be late, he wanted this to be done—today.

"Do you have a phone book I can borrow?" He asked.

"Certainly." She reached behind the counter. She handed him the book, along with a notepad and pencil.

"Thank you." Jonathan opened to the F's and skimmed his finger along the page. After a moment, he jotted down an address and phone number on the pad. Closing the book, he pushed it back in the woman's direction and thanked her once more. He tore the page off the notepad and slipped it into his pocket.

"I have a couple of errands to run, but I'll be back in an hour."

"I'll have it ready," The woman replied with a smile.

Jonathan was back across the street and inside Ava within a minute. He checked the address on the slip of paper once more before pulling away from the curb. Within ten minutes time, he'd arrived at his second destination. Thankfully, the shop was open. He pulled into the parking lot in the back and walked around the side of the building to the front entrance. A bell jingled above the door as he pushed it open and walked inside.

"Good Morning, sir. How may I help you?" A young woman smiled.

"Actually, I have a slightly unusual request."

"Try me." She smiled again.

"I'd like to order the alphabet, if possible."

"Did you say the alphabet?"

"All twenty-six glorious letters." He smiled.

"Let me grab my book and order form." She nodded.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was half past nine when Jonathan arrived back at his first stop. He waited impatiently in line behind two other customers, checking his watch repeatedly. It would be close to ten o'clock before he'd arrive at the hospital. He'd missed a visit with Max, and Jennifer was probably wondering where he was. Finally, it was his turn. He approached the counter, pulling his wallet from his hip pocket.

"You're all ready to go, sir. Here it is." The woman behind the counter handed him a legal size mailing envelope. Jonathan opened it and examined the finished product, impressed at how realistic it looked.

"It's amazing. Thank you so much for taking care of this for me on such short notice."

"I'm glad you like it. It really is beautiful. Is it an authentic piece?"

"It's what I call authentic-with-a-twist." He gave her a wink.

"I just need to seal it for you. You said red, is that correct?"

"Yes, red is perfect."

Jonathan paid the fee and returned to Ava. Twisting and turning through the streets of Los Angeles, he could feel the anxiety rising inside him. The joy of his morning errands was wearing off—now replaced with the reality that Jennifer was probably lying in pain, waiting on him and he was late. Very late.

XXXXXXXXXX

Slowly she opened her eyes. She was so tired and her eyelids felt heavy. The room was dim. The blinds, closed. In the corner she could see her father, his face behind a newspaper.

"Pa…"

"Well, look who's awake." He stood and folded the paper, dropping it on his chair. He approached her bed, taking her hand in his.

"What time is it? Where's Jonathan?" Her voice was groggy.

"Nine-thirty. And I haven't heard from Jonathan this morning, but I'm sure he'll be here shortly. No telling how long he stayed here last night. I hope he was able to get some rest."

"I feel awful. Why did I do this to myself? Why didn't you stop me?"

"Dr. Walsh is very please with your surgery. Remember? He came in here late yesterday afternoon to check in on you."

"He did? I don't remember."

"Well, you've been high for the last twenty-four hours."

"My mouth is so dry. Can I have some water?"

"No, but I'll go and get you some ice." He gave her hand a loving squeeze before turning to leave.

"Thank you." She closed her eyes and lay still for several moments. The pain in her back, along with the medicine was making it difficult for her brain to work. _What day is it again? When was my surgery? Did he say nine-thirty? Is that a.m. or p.m.?_

She turned her head and opened her eyes again. She could see something on the table beside her bed, but her eyes were having trouble adjusting. She pressed a button on the side rail of the bed and raised her head up to get a better look. Though laughing was painful, she couldn't hold in a small chuckle. There on the table, smiling directly at her was a bobblehead figure of Larry, her favorite Stooge. _Oh Jonathan,_ she thought with a smile. How could something so silly make her feel so good? Even in his absence, he was still able to make her laugh. The door slowly opened and Stephen returned with a cup of ice.

"Well, you're sitting up a little. That's a good sign. Are you tremendous pain, my darling?"

"My back feels like its on fire."

"That's what that handy little button is for. Great invention, morphine. Take a shot."

"It's a narcotic, Pa, not Irish whiskey. No, I think I can handle it."

"Jennifer, this is no time to play the hero. You've just had back surgery a little more than twenty-four hours ago. If you need the pain medicine, press the damn button."

"But I want to wait until Jonathan gets here. I don't even remember seeing him yesterday. I don't remember anything yesterday."

"Alright. I'm not going to argue with you." He crossed in front of the bed and grabbed the rolling tray. Positioning it over the bed in front of her, he sat down the cup of ice and handed her a spoon.

"Thank you. My mouth is just so dry."

"That's fairly common following surgery, if I'm not mistaken."

A nurse entered, smiling and carrying a tray.

"Good Morning, Ms. Edwards. My name is Holly. Dr. Walsh has arranged a clear liquid diet for you." She placed the tray in front of Jennifer. "How's your pain level, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being unbearable."

"Well, I guess about a seven."

"The doctor would like to see you off the pump as soon as possible. You will still be able to ask for oral pain meds as needed."

"I'd prefer it that way." Jennifer nodded.

"And how do you feel about taking a little walk later this afternoon?"

"How little is little?" Jennifer smiled weakly.

"We'll see how you feel later. We like to have all surgical patients up and moving in some fashion the day after surgery. But don't worry, it'll be baby steps to start." The nurse checked the IV bags and jotted notes on her clipboard. She took Jennifer's temperature and checked her blood pressure. Just as she removed the cuff, the door opened. Jonathan peeked around the edge the door, flashing a big smile.

"Are you decent?"

"Yes." She smiled warmly back at him. He entered the room, a beautiful floral arrangement in one hand and a small gift bag in the other.

"How are you?" He placed the items on the table beside her bed. Bending down, he tenderly kissed her forehead.

"I'm better now." She held out her hand to him. Taking it in his, he smiled, gently rubbing his thumb across hers. She looked tired but beautiful. When would she not look beautiful?

"Jonathan, I hope you were able to get some sleep last night?"

"Yes sir, I was. How 'bout you?"

"I slept fine." Stephen replied.

"That's good. And how was your night?" Jonathan turned back to Jennifer.

"I was so out of it, I don't remember much."

The nurse finished making notes and turned to leave. "Please try and get something in your stomach. I'll let Dr. Walsh know you're ready to move on with oral meds."

"So they're taking away your still, huh?" Jonathan glanced at the pump beside the bed.

"Morphine makes me nervous. I think I'll be alright without it."

"Jonathan, now that you're here, I'm going to head down to the cafeteria and get some breakfast. May I bring you something back?" Stephen asked.

"No, I'm fine. But thank you anyway."

Stephen patted Jennifer's leg and gave Jonathan a wink as he made his way to the door. Jonathan sat down on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair off her forehead. He gently leaned forward and kissed her softly.

"I missed you last night. The yummy bed said to tell you hello and please hurry back."

"I missed you too. I'm so glad you're here now." She squeezed his hand tightly. She turned and looked over at the flowers beside the bed. "And these are beautiful."

"Well, I'm sorry I didn't have them here sooner." He reached over and pulled the card from the center of the bouquet.

"That's okay. I had Larry here to keep me company." She pointed to the figure on the table beside the bed.

"Hey! Dr. Walsh brought it back, then?"

"That's not from Dr. Walsh."

"Yeah, he borrowed it from me during surgery. He didn't tell you?"

"What, you mean like a good-luck-charm or something?"

"No, as a guide. He copied it. You now have that tattoo you've always wanted." His eyes shined as he spoke.

"Cute. Very cute. May I see my card please?"

"Were you really able to rest last night? I know how it is in here—nurses bothering you ever couple of hours all through the night."

"Actually, I don't really remember anything. I was in and out. But my back is wide awake now and not feeling very good. And, the nurse said I'm going to be walking later today."

"What? But you just had the surgery."

"That's what she said."

"I guess they don't want you lying around thinking this is just some fancy resort. I'm just concerned about the pain and the medicine. Are you sure you're ready to be off this pump?"

"The nurse said they like their patients on oral meds after twenty-four hours."

"I can always sneak in a flask of gin if necessary." He gently stroked her arm.

"How long did you stay here last night? My father said he left before you did."

"I had every intention of staying the night, but Dr. Walsh kicked me out. He said the charge for sleeping in a chair was twice that of a regular bed. I've learned not to argue with him."

"My father said he was very pleased with the surgery."

"You don't remember when he was in here yesterday afternoon, do you?"

"No. I remember hearing voices and laughing, but other than that…"

"He got the whole thing. It's all out." He continued to stroke her arm. Jonathan could feel a tightening in his throat. Jennifer looked down for a moment and closed her eyes.

"Did he say anything else? About how the tumor looked, or the tissue or anything?"

"No. But he did say that the tumor was quite smitten with you."

"Smitten?"

"They had to stop the surgery twice because the tumor was more difficult to remove than he expected. The electrodes monitoring your spinal cord functioning showed levels of distress during the surgery. Dr. Walsh had to stop and allow your spinal cord to rest a little while."

"Really?"

"Obviously, your tumor was very happy and didn't want to be separated from you." He smiled. "However, you now have an entirely new problem." He gave her a serious look.

"Oh?" She looked at him with curious eyes.

" _I'm_ smitten with you. And it's gonna take more than some cutting-edge laser and a group of doctors to remove me."

The door opened and another nurse entered with a bouquet of flowers.

"These just arrived for you." She placed them on the window sill. Jonathan walked over and retrieved the card. He handed it to Jennifer with a smile.

"I wonder who these are from." She took the card from his hand and slipped it out of its tiny envelope. "Interesting. Whoever sent these didn't sign the card." She looked at him with a questioning glare. "What are you up to?"

"What makes you think I'm up to something?"

The same nurse returned a minute later, again carrying another floral arrangement. She placed it on the windowsill as well. "Another beauty. You obviously have many admirers." She smiled at Jennifer.

"That… or one that doesn't know when to quit." She shook her head at him. Jonathan pulled the card from the third arrangement and handed it to her. She read it with a grin then studied the flowers around her.

"Am I seeing a pattern here?"

"Pattern?" He smiled slyly.

" _A_ maryllis, _B_ ird of Paradise, _C_ amillia. I guess _D_ aisies are next?"

"You are a quick study."

"Jonathan?"

"What? Can't a man just send a woman some flowers?"

He spent the next few minutes filling her in on all the details of what had occurred the day before—the conversations with Dr. Walsh and her father, Max's progress, and his dream. Not everything about it. Only the heavily edited version. Jennifer listened intently. It seemed like days had passed since she'd arrived at the hospital.

"Did you tell my father about the dream?"

"Well, he was right there when I woke up. I'd only dozed off for about fifteen or twenty minutes, but it was long enough to have some scary images run through my mind. All that anxiety, and our discussion before we left. It all got twisted around inside my head."

"You were exhausted. You'd slept less than three hours."

"Well, I'm not complaining. Not when you're the cause." He smiled.

The door opened a third time, and the same nurse returned with an enormous bouquet…of daisies.

"Either I'm clairvoyant or you're crazy." She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. Without saying a word, she held out her hand for the card. Jonathan handed it to her and she read aloud once more.

She paused a moment and looked at the four different bouquets of flowers in her room. "You are incorrigible."

"Why are you pointing fingers at me? You don't even know who these are from. I'm sure you have dozens of admirers. Could be from any one of them."

"There's only one admirer that I'm interested in. And I certainly hope he's footing the bill for all of them."

Jonathan gave her a good-natured wink as the door opened for the fourth time, and the same nurse poked her head around the door.

"Ms. Edwards? Do you have room in here for a few more arrangement?"

Jennifer looked at Jonathan and shook her head again. "Let me think. What's a flower that starts with _e_?"

"You'll have to skip _e_ —there was nothing with that letter. Try _f_ instead."

"So you ordered me twenty-six different bouquets of flowers then, is that it? Or twenty-five, minus the _e_?"

"Well, I'm missing a few letters—k, q, x…a couple others." He stood and helped the nurse place the various arrangements around her room. "Here you are, milady." He said, bowing as he presented her with a handful of cards.

"Jonathan Hart…" She shook her head.

"Well, anyone can send flowers every day for a week. But how often do you get an entire floral alphabet in one day?"

It was hard to be depressed by the pain she felt since they'd kept her laughing all afternoon. When the pain became too intense, she hated to ask for medicine, afraid that she'd miss something. She had never seen her father so completely at ease as he was with Jonathan. They carried on like two old war buddies, swapping stories and telling lies. Catnapping throughout the day, she would fall asleep smiling as she listened to their banter.

It was just after five o'clock when Holly peeked around the door.

"Ready to take a walk with me Ms. Edwards?" She smiled.

"Is it time already?" Jennifer asked. Jonathan instantly detected the worry in her voice.

"Baby steps, remember. We need to get those legs moving." Holly pushed the rolling tray away from the bed. Pressing the buttons on the side rail, she raised Jennifer's head and lowered her feet.

"Can I help?" Jonathan asked.

"Actually, yes. You can be my back-up—literally. Once we have her up, you can stand behind her with the wheelchair, ready in case she needs to quickly sit down. We don't want to have to pick her up off the floor." She looked at Jennifer. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to have you bring your legs around to the side of the bed and sit up on the edge. That in itself may take a couple of minutes. Then, we're going to stand up. After that, piece of cake. You'll jog down to the break room and get me a soda while I sit here and enjoy the company of these two handsome gentlemen." She smiled at Jonathan and Stephen.

"Coke or Sprite?" Jennifer joked back.

"Okay, let's give it a go." Holly slowly helped Jennifer slide her legs over toward the left side of the bed. Jonathan stood waiting with the chair at the end of the bed. Nervously, Stephen stood in the corner, completely silent. Grabbing her wrists, the nurse carefully pulled her up in a seated position.

"Look at you! You're sitting up. Are you feeling okay?" She asked.

"I feel very dizzy…" Jennifer felt waves of hot and cold rush through her as the room grew more and more dim.

"Okay. We'll just sit here a minute or two until you're better. I know that lightheaded feeling really kicks in after you've been lying down for a long time."

Everyone in the room remained silent with all eyes focused on Jennifer.

"I think I'm better now." She said after a minute.

"Are you sure? We can wait a little longer if necessary."

"No, let's just get this over with."

"Jennifer, this is not something you need to rush." Jonathan's voice was filled with concern.

"I'm alright." She took a deep breath and stood up for the first time in a long time. Jonathan pushed the wheelchair next to her.

"How are your legs?" The nurse asked.

"They feel like they're asleep but not in the same way they were before the surgery. They feel all tingly. Like they're trying to wake up."

"Let's try and take a step now, okay? Right foot first."

Slowly Jennifer moved her right foot forward. It wasn't much, but Jonathan could see that it she was giving it everything she had.

"Now the left. Just take your time." The nurse held her firmly.

Another tiny step and Jennifer inched forward slightly.

"I'm so sorry, but I think…I think…" Jennifer felt her body slipping away, as the room grew darker and darker around her until she was lost in a sea of black.

XXXXXXXXXX

She was surprised to find the room much darker and totally quiet when she opened her eyes.

"Jonathan?" She called out his name; her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm here." He rose from the chair and stood beside her bed. Reaching down, he smoothed her hair back off her forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"I can barely see you."

Jonathan reached and hit the button for the reading light on the side rail of the bed. It took her eyes a moment to focus.

"How's that?" He whispered.

"Much better. What time is it?"

"It's almost eight. You've been out for a while now."

"What happened?"

"You passed out. The nurse and your father and I got you back in bed. She gave you something for pain. An injection. You've been out ever since. You missed Dr. Walsh again."

"So much for my marathon."

"Hey now, we're all really proud of you. You took a couple of steps. You did great. No one expected a marathon."

"Where's my father?"

"I sent him down to get something to eat. I tried to get him to go down with me right after you were given the shot but he wouldn't go. The nurse said you'd be out for a while. I decided to grab something to eat and check in on Max. Your father was as white as a ghost after you passed out. You really scared him. You scared us both."

"I'm so sorry. I thought I could make it."

"Well, we'll just have to take it slower next time." He bent down and kissed her tenderly. "Your dinner is here. Let's get you up and get some fluids in you." He smiled as he wheeled the tray over in front of her.

XXXXXXXXXX

Stephen returned just as Jennifer was finishing her tray.

"Darling, how are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare, my dear."

"I'm sorry, Pa. I'm better now. I just have to remember to not be in such a rush."

The three spent the next couple of hours laughing and talking. Stephen told them the story of how he'd met Jennifer's mother—a true comedy of errors. It was Jennifer's favorite story. And whether she was eight or eighty, she knew she would never tire of hearing it. She watched Jonathan's face as he listened to her father. Being the great story-teller he was, she knew he appreciated Stephen's lively tales. Jonathan shared more adventures of Max and his motley crew of gambling buddies and baseball glory days. At ten o'clock, Stephen stood and yawned.

"My dear, this is where I make my exit. I'll be back up in the morning but I want you to get plenty of rest tonight. You'll feel so much better tomorrow than you did today, I promise." He bent down and kissed the top of her head. Turning toward Jonathan, he extended his hand. "That goes for you too. Now don't hang out here all night. You get home and get some rest. I'm bringing a deck of cards with me tomorrow and we'll find out just how talented a card shark you are." He patted Jonathan on the shoulder before walking to the door. He turned back one last time and blew his daughter a kiss.

"G'night, my darling. G'night, Jonathan."

"Goodnight, Stephen."

"Bye, Pa. I love you. I'll see you in the morning." She blew a kiss back at him. The door closed behind him and she and Jonathan were once again alone.

"Well, you heard the man. I can't be hanging out here too much longer myself."

"Don't go. Not for a while anyway."

"But you need to rest."

"But I'm not tired. I had a three hour nap, remember?"

"I brought your book up. How 'bout I read to you for a while?"

"That sounds wonderful."

Jonathan reached into the small gift bag he'd brought in earlier and pulled out his copy of _The Age of Innocence._ He pulled a chair up next to the bed and opened to chapter six.

"Are you gonna sit way over there?" She asked with a smirk.

"Yep."

"Do you think that chair is more comfortable or less comfortable than this bed?"

"I think you already know the answer to that question." Jonathan grinned and began reading aloud to her. Instantly, his voice had a calming effect over her entire body. That voice. Just like a blanket wrapping around her. She closed her eyes, listening and creating pictures in her mind of the scenes he described from the novel. It was after eleven when he stopped reading and closed the book.

"Jennifer, it's late. I want you to rest now. You've had a big day and they're only going to get bigger."

"I wish the yummy bed was here."

"Me too."

"I'm still not tired, but I know you are."

"I don't want to leave. But you won't truly rest until I do. I'll be back up here first thing in the morning." He touched her cheek. "If you need me in the night for anything at all, just call me, okay? I don't care what time it is. Call me if you need _anything_."

"I will." She held out her hands to him. He kissed each one and held them tightly. Bending down, he kissed her.

"I love you so very much." He whispered.

"And I love you. Please be careful going home."

"I will. I'll see you in the morning." He turned and walked to the door. Stopping, he turned to give her one last smile.

"There's another book in the bag, in case you want to read something else later." He said, nodding toward the table beside the bed. Copying Stephen, he blew a kiss to her. Jennifer reached up and pretended to catch it, placing the imaginary kiss on her cheek. He opened the door and gave her one last wave. The door closed and she was alone.

She found the remote button for the television. Flipping through the channels, she found little worth watching. She stopped and watched several minutes of The Weather Channel but quickly grew bored. Flipping again, she caught the last few minutes of a documentary on the Civil War. When it ended, she continued her search for decent entertainment. She found an old black and white movie she'd loved as a kid. She'd seen it so many times, she could recite all the dialogue by heart. _Boring._ Clicking the television off, she listened to the sounds of the hospital just outside her door. It had been a perfect day. An absolutely perfect day. Forget the pain. Forget passing out. Jennifer smiled as she thought about the two men her life, laughing and carrying on together. It felt right. She remembered back to the one and only time that Stephen had been in the same room with Elliot. They'd met for dinner in DC one night...and Stephen disliked him instantly. Whether he was an excellent judge of character or Elliot was just unlikable was moot. It had been the longest, most painful evening of her life. Elliot had dominated the entire conversation, had had way too much to drink, and proceeded to argue with the waiter about the bill. Jennifer had been so embarrassed, and her father was embarrassed for her. She recalled how they'd laughed about it later—Stephen calling Elliot an 'obnoxious drunk with more money than sense.'

 _Class—now that's something that Jonathan has tenfold,_ she thought with a smile. Jonathan Charles Hart. She thought about his name and looked around the room at the vast array of beautiful flowers. Suddenly, she realized that a few more deliveries had been made. She sighed, once more amazed at the depth of his caring. It was then she noticed a stack of unopened envelopes on the table beside the bed. She reached for them and read each one; her smile never once leaving her lips. Again, she marveled at his handwriting. So crisp and exact—like that of an architect or cartographer. Stacking the cards neatly, she placed them back on the table beside her bed. Seeing the gift bag there, she decided to see what he'd sent. She reached inside and pulled out a new book and she couldn't help but laugh when she saw the title. _Green Eggs and_ _Ham,_ by Dr. Seuss. Attached to the front cover was short message on a yellow Post-It note, in the same, precise handwriting:

 _I understand this was written several years after he penned_

 _"Red Bacon and Gin."_

 _Apparently, that title never really took off._

 _All My Love,_

 _J.._

 _How does he do it_? She wondered again. He knew just the right looks, the right gestures, and the right words to get inside her heart. She smiled and opened the book and an envelope fell into her lap from the inside cover. It appeared very old. The parchment felt brittle and had yellowed. It was simply addressed, with her name beautifully written in dramatic calligraphy on the front. She flipped the envelope over, surprised to find it neatly sealed with red wax. A single scrolled initial was stamped in the center—"W." Jennifer's mind turned over for a moment. She couldn't think of anyone she knew whose last name began might correspond with the monogram. Carefully she slid her fingernail under the wax, breaking the seal. Inside, she found a letter in the same exquisite hand that matched the envelope. Far more beautiful than the script were the words of the letter itself…

 _My Fair Jennifer,_

 _I'm certain that you're curious as to the nature of my correspondence. Though I have long departed the Earth, I am still in constant contact with many souls who dwell upon Her. Their stories come to me in the same way the winds move through the leaves on the trees, scattering a select few in directions unknown. I must say I was surprised to learn of your displeasure with one of my stories. Is it that you should wish a new ending? Or perhaps, should you read it from a different perspective? In my life, I was unfortunate that I spent many years in a state of solitary mourning, living a lie because I felt that my honor and character might somehow be compromised. Later, I learned that the lie was a far greater compromise than the revelation of truth. I married an older man. A man I thought I could love. But I was most unhappy for a period of years. Unlike the character in my story, I was not faithful to him—neither in life nor in death. Somehow, I found strength within myself to begin my life anew. And now, I pray, you have found the strength to do the same. You have moved from the lie, and all that is before you now is truth. The truth that your soul mate is not waiting in Heaven for you, but is here with you now. Earth has delivered his message to me. He will be yours in this life and After. He has walked through the Hall, passed the Drawing room, passed the Sitting room. He did not rest his hand on the door handle of your innermost room in hesitation. The handle has been turned and he has built a warm fire within. Go and take your place beside him. Share the fires of your love and the stories of your lives. Allow his life to etch new lines on the windows of your heart, for he longs to see inside your soul as your eyes have penetrated his._

 _It is time to move on from my story and write your own ending. The ending you want. An ending filled with a lifetime of love, alongside a man who wants nothing more than to make you his very own, giving you what he feels you deserve…the fullness of life._

 _Warmest Regards—_

 _Edith Wharton_

 _XXXXXXXXXX_

 _The sounds of a lonely saxophone drifted through the smoke-filled air of the club. Though the night was growing old, the crowd at the club was buzzing. The band played a string of slow, sensual songs—the kind that force two bodies on a dance floor to melt into one, forgetting the presence of others in the room. He held her by the small of her back. She felt so delicate in his arms. He could smell the scent of jasmine in her auburn hair and he envisioned it loose and wildly fanned out across a pillow in the bed of his hotel suite. How could just one night with this woman be so intoxicating?_

 _She pressed her body against his. She didn't want to say goodnight to this man or the moment. Running her fingers through his hair, she knew that one night with him would not be enough. The jazz, the smoke and the champagne made her mind race. He'd loosened his tie and the collar of his shirt was now unbuttoned. She wanted nothing more than to finish what he'd already started—to slowly pull the tie through his shirt collar and let it fall to the floor. Closing her eyes, she imagined unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his shirt, but she knew the truth. It would never be slow or methodical. It would be hurried. Rushed. The need to feel his body and be a part of him could not wait for a slow and tender build up. She would want him and he would want her—and there'd be no waiting._

 _The song ended, yet they stood still embraced—slowly swaying back and forth on the dance floor. She closed her eyes for a moment. Without a word, he took her by the hand and led her back to their table. Another bottle of champagne sat waiting in a silver bucket beside two fresh glasses._

 _"More champagne?" She asked._

 _"Well, we are celebrating, aren't we?"_

 _"Of course. I don't remember what we're celebrating, but I'm sure it's something good."_

 _He popped the cork and poured them each a glass. He raised his glass and offered a toast._

 _"My only regret in life is that I did not drink more champagne." He said with a perfect British accent._

 _"Who said that?" She asked._

 _"John Meynard Keynes. And when in London…" He raised his glass and nodded._

 _She smiled and raised her glass. "My turn. 'Three be the things I shall never attain: envy, content and sufficient champagne.'"_

 _"Four be the things I am wiser to know: Idleness, sorrow, a friend, and a foe." He gave her a look and replied in his husky voice._

 _"So you know Dorothy Parker, too?" She took a sip of champagne._

 _"I may not hail from New York, but I am familiar with Ms. Parker's work."_

 _"Are you trying to impress me...or seduce me?"_

 _"Yes." He replied with a sly smile._

 _She studied him for a moment as she quietly sipped her champagne. Who is this man? This handsome, funny, charming man—sitting across the table from me in the middle of London—flirting shamelessly with me? I've got absolutely no control whatsoever. She smiled at him once more, completely shameless in her own thoughts. Raising her glass once more, she offered another toast._

 _"Romance fills the air, champagne fills my head. One of these will get me into your bed."_

 _He paused a moment and took a sip from his flute, eyeing her with flirtatious suspicion. He racked his brain, but couldn't find the answer._

 _"I give up. Who said that?"_

 _She bit her lip and smiled. "I did."_

 _They took a cab back to Claridge's. The night was on its way out, giving way to those predawn hours that make people forget themselves. Her head still reeled from too many champagne toasts, but she wanted to get lost. She wanted to get so lost with him that no one would ever find them again. Closing her eyes, she remembered how his strong arms held her and the way their bodies moved against one another as the sounds of the jazz band enveloped them. Once more, her thoughts returned to his tie and the buttons on his shirt. She moved closer to him in the backseat of the cab, allowing her hand to slide up on his thigh. Not too far up, but just enough to keep him interested. He reached down and placed his hand on top of hers. They rode in silence to his hotel; his thumb gently rubbing hers the whole way there._

 _Once inside his suite, he led her down the short hall to his bedroom. Again, no words passed between them. Their bodies had already held this conversation on the dance floor. He quietly opened the door. The light was on, and another bottle of champagne sat waiting beside the bed. She laughed._

 _"Well aren't you the picture of confidence?"_

 _"When you have confidence, you can have a lot of fun. And when you have fun, you can do amazing things?"_

 _"Really? And just who said that?"_

 _"Joe Namath."_

 _"I thought you were strictly a baseball guy."_

 _"I have a great appreciation for contact sports as well."_

 _"And a great amount of confidence."_

 _"You think I planned this? That I knew the whole evening would end up here?"_

 _"What am I supposed to think?" She pointed to unopened bottle beside the bed._

 _"Only good thoughts. Shall we?" Closing the door, he walked over to bedside table and retrieved the bottle. "Would you do the honors?"_

 _"Certainly." She took the bottle from him and opened it, quickly sipping the foamy bubbles that escaped. She poured them each a glass and they toasted once again._

 _"To England." She raised her glass._

 _"Be it Merry and Old." He took a sip, then took her glass from her and placed it on the nightstand next to his. He removed his jacket and tossed it carelessly on the chair. He clicked on the desk lamp and then walked back across the room. At the door, he turned out the light. The room was dim, with the only light coming from the desk lamp._

 _"I prefer candlelight." She pointed to the lamp._

 _"You're beautiful in any light."_

 _She stood still for a moment before slipping off her shoes. He stood and walked toward her, reaching up for his tie._

 _"Un-uh…let me do it." She said, slipping her hands up around his neck. Slowly, she wrapped one end of his tie around her hand, giving it a seductive tug. The tie slipped through the collar of his dress shirt. She held it up for a moment, then let it drop to the floor. She took a deep breath, determined to take her time and give each button on his shirt the attention it deserved. Something inside her had taken over. Something that was unfamiliar. She had become someone else. He had somehow changed her. Never had she allowed herself to be so assertive. But she'd never wanted a man the way she wanted him. With each button, she could feel herself growing more and more impatient. Again, she took another deep breath, forcing herself to slow down and enjoy the moment. A bittersweet moment that dangled somewhere between patience and haste. He hadn't yet touched her. Their lips hadn't met for the deep surrender that would surely force her off the cliff that she was barely balancing on. Just as that thought left her mind, she felt them—his hands. First on her hips, then sliding down on her thighs. Within seconds, her black business skirt was pulled up near her waist and his fingers gently rolled down the tops of her thigh-high hosiery. When his hand met the bare skin of her thigh, she felt her insides begin to burn. Only two buttons to go. His hand caressed her outer thigh tenderly before finding its way in between her legs. One more button. She slipped her hands inside his shirt and slid it down off his shoulders. Looking up at him, she knew. No more waiting. He looked down and kissed her, exploring every part of her mouth with his. She could feel his breath filling up her lungs, and she wanted to drink in every part of him. She pulled the shirttail from the waist of his suit pants. He reached up and her skirt fell neatly back into place. He slid her jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall. The buttons on her blouse came undone, one by one—only much faster than his. Reaching underneath it, he allowed his hands to rest on her shoulders for a moment. Neither spoke a word and he kissed her once more as her blouse fell from her shoulders and joined the jacket on the floor. Her hands slowly traveled down his bare chest, resting a moment on his hips, before finding their way to his belt. Carefully, she unbuckled the clasp and pulled it from the waistband, in the same manner she'd handled his tie. Holding it up for a moment, she smiled at him before letting it fall to the floor. He kissed her again, lightly teasing the corners of her mouth. Holding her body against his, he buried his face in her hair. It smelled of rain and jasmine and smoky jazz and he wanted to curl up inside it and hideaway forever. They stood holding each other for a moment with only the sounds of breathing passing between them. She closed her eyes and lightly ran her fingers across his back. She was still dangling on the edge of a very dangerous cliff and she didn't know how much longer she could hold on. She felt something deeper than a physical longing. Slowly, his kisses made a path across her cheek. Then, his lips found her neck—and that's when he knew he had her. He stopped a moment and ran his hand across her chest. Her skin was like milk, dotted with delicious cinnamon colored freckles. Tenderly, his mouth traced the lacy edge of her bra, teasing her in such a way that she couldn't hold on any longer. He continued on his path of discovery—down on both knees, kneeling before her. His lips came to rest just above her belly button and he covered her flat stomach with soft kisses._

 _She kneeled down beside him and stared into his eyes. Words to describe the depth of their blue color didn't exits. She reached and pulled down a blanket from the bed. Silently, she lay back on the floor and unzipped her skirt. He watched as she removed it. He'd seen many attractive women undress, but there was something different about this one. His pulse quickened as he studied the lines and shapes of the woman before him. Something about her lying here made him smile and think of Christmas. That moment in one's life that determines if true joy is found in the anticipation of what might be under the tree, or in what truly waits there. Fortunately, this night would not be filled with any holiday disappointment._

 _"Wouldn't you be more comfortable on the bed?" He asked, running his hand lightly up her bare leg._

 _"Beds are strictly for suckers." She winked._

"Jennifer?" He spoke from behind the door.

Her body jumped and she quickly turned her head toward the door of her hospital room. Dr. Walsh stood waiting, a bright smile on his face.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's alright."

"I wasn't sure if you'd be awake. It's still early. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Of course not. I was just proofing. Trying to get ahead on a story I'm working on." She paused, letting out a heavy sigh as she placed her manuscript on the table beside her hospital bed.

"I thought I'd try to see you this morning. I haven't fared too well with my attempts at an afternoon visit." He smiled.

"I'm sorry about that." She pressed the button on the inside bed rail. Sitting more upright, she ran her fingers through her hair.

"No problem. I understand that you've been briefed about your surgery."

"Yes. Jonathan and my father said that you got everything, and that you were pleased. But they also mentioned that you had to stop the surgery a couple of times."

"We did, but everything went smoothly otherwise. I am very pleased with the outcome. Now, how are you feeling? I understand you tried to run a few laps around the nurses' station yesterday."

"I couldn't even make it to the door. I passed out."

"That's happens. We'll get you up and try again this afternoon. I'd like for you to keep your head up and elevated as much as possible today. Maybe that way, you won't experience such a degree of dizziness." Though she smiled back at him, he detected concern in her eyes. "Any other questions?"

"Just one. And I think you know what it is." She looked down at her hands for a moment, focusing on the IV in her hand.

"The pathology report should be back either late today or early tomorrow." He noted her worried expression, and the fact that suddenly she wasn't making eye contact with him.

"Well, that's good to know—and much faster than I expected."

"Jennifer, I don't think you have anything to worry about." He gave her shoulder a light squeeze. She turned her eyes back to meet his. Instantly, she felt relieved as she could see the truth in his eyes.

"Thank you. Thank you for everything."

Jennifer didn't know what else to say. _How do you thank someone for giving you your life back?_ She and Dr. Walsh discussed the timeline for her recovery for several minutes before he turned to leave.

"I see you've been doing some serious reading." He nodded at the children's book on the table beside her bed.

"Well, I've always had an appreciation for great works of literature."

"If only Dr. Seuss had written medical textbooks." He smiled once more as he pulled the door open and walked out.

Alone, Jennifer's mind replayed just one sentence from their conversation _: "I don't think you have anything to worry about."_ Did he know or was he just being optimistic? But her mind didn't stay focused on the pathology report or Dr. Walsh for very long. She couldn't contain her smile as she reached inside the book and pulled out an aged envelope. Carefully, she pulled the letter from within. She'd read it so many times, she'd almost committed the words to memory. _A love letter—my first, real love letter_ , she thought to herself. She placed the letter on her chest and sighed. It had been difficult not to grab the phone and call Jonathan immediately, but she wanted to see him face to face. The feelings he'd expressed to her just couldn't be appreciated over the phone. And now she longed to create something special and meaningful for him. Something that would touch him as deeply as his letter touched her. But what could be done from the confines of a hospital bed? She knew she couldn't do much, but she knew someone that could. She reached for the phone beside her bed. Checking the notepad beside it, she found where he'd written down the number. Slowly, she dialed; her fingers not yet fully awake. He answered after the first ring, startled.

"Stephen Edwards." His sleepy voice filled with alarm.

"Good morning, Pa."

"Is everything alright, Darling? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Dr. Walsh was just here."

"Yes? What did he say?

"Well, that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I have a project I need some help with…"

 **TBC**

 **Thanks to those who have left reviews!**


	9. Chapter 9

Jonathan carried his coffee out onto the balcony of his apartment to greet the day. He was surprised that he'd had such a hard time falling asleep. Usually, a day of sitting around a hospital room exhausted him. But he just couldn't disconnect the image of Jennifer in his mind long enough to fall asleep. Smiling, he blew little ripples in the hot liquid before taking a sip. Obviously, since his phone didn't ring during the night, she'd been alright. He'd picked up the phone several times but resisted dialing each time. Would he wake her? Was she finally resting after a long day? As hard as it'd been, he knew he couldn't risk disturbing her. But the morning was finally here, and it wouldn't be long until he could see her again. He returned to his bedroom, placed the coffee mug on his bedside table and reached for the phone. Dialing, he smiled, noticing an empty spot on the table in desperate need of a new photo. A photo of a redhead.

"How may I direct your call?" A pleasant voice answered.

"Room two-fourteen, please."

"And the patient's name?"

"Jennifer Hart."

After a short pause, the voice on the other end replied,

"I'm sorry sir. I'm showing a patient with another name registered in that room. No Jennifer Hart."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I say Hart? I mean Edwards. Jennifer Edwards." Jonathan ran his hand through his hair.

"I'll connect you, sir. Thank you."

Jonathan looked up, catching his reflection in the large mirror over his dresser. Grinning at himself, he chuckled at his Freudian slip.

"Hello?" She answered.

"Good morning. Did I wake you?" His husky voice was soft and comforting.

"Actually, I've been up having phone conversations and visitors."

"Really? Your public is already restless at this early hour?"

"I spoke with my father and Dr. Walsh came in to see me."

"What did Dr. Walsh say?"

"Well, that he was sorry that he'd missed me the last couple of times he'd stopped in. We just discussed the surgery and what's ahead in the coming weeks." She made a split-second decision to stop short and not mention the pathology report.

"I'm glad you finally had a chance to talk to him face to face."

"Me too. Now, how was your night? How's the yummy bed?"

"Honestly, it's not all that yummy. It seems to be missing a crucial ingredient." Without even thinking, Jonathan reached over and touched the pillow on her side of the bed.

"Is that so? What do you suppose that could be?" She smiled, wishing she could be right there with him.

"Well, as soon as I finish attaching the wheels to it, I'll drive it down to the hospital and we'll figure it out _together."_

"A rolling bed? With breakfast…to go?"

"And lunch…and dinner…"

"Sounds like just what the doctor forgot to order."

"How was your night? We're you able to rest?" He asked with genuine concern.

"I had a hard time falling asleep. I watched TV for a while, then read some."

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat. He'd never written a letter to anyone—ever. A note here and there to Max; business correspondence. But never a letter to a woman. Never a letter that so blatantly expressed his feelings. A small part of him regretted sending it. Would she find it silly? Stupid? She said she felt the same way but did she really? He looked up at his reflection in the mirror once more.

"You didn't get too far ahead of me in _The Age of Innocence_ now did you?" He tried to remain cool.

"No, I didn't read that." Jennifer knew what he was hinting at and she couldn't resist the temptation to make him sweat it out a little.

"So, what did you read?"

Jennifer smiled and bit her lip. She knew he was dying on the other end, and to make him wait any longer would just be mean.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Jonathan could hear the mischievous tone in her voice.

"Try me." He replied.

"I got a letter." She couldn't stop smiling, as she wrapped the phone cord playfully around her finger.

"A letter? From one of your many adoring fans, no doubt?"

"Actually, it's from someone I've never even met."

"Really? An _anonymous_ letter, then?"

"No, it's not anonymous. It was signed. But that's not the strange thing about it."

"It's not? Well, where'd it come from then?"

"It was sent to me…from _the grave_."

Jonathan paused, smiling and shaking his head. He knew Jennifer was smiling too. God, how he wanted to be there with her. Never had anyone made him feel so alive. He didn't have to be the high-browed CEO with her. He could just be a man desperately in love with a woman for the first time in his life. A woman nineteen years younger…but he wasn't counting.

"From the grave?" He paused again. "Damn, I bet the postage for that must be outrageous."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan arrived at the ICU on the sixth floor shortly after eight. Just as he stepped into the waiting area, a nurse called out to him.

"Mr. Hart?"

"Yes?" Jonathan walked over the desk.

"Dr. Walsh was just in to see Mr. Brennan earlier this morning. They'll be moving him to a private room as soon as they have one ready."

Closing his eyes, Jonathan said a quick, quiet prayer. Max had beaten the odds, and would be leaving the ICU in something other than a body bag.

"Do you know if he'll stay on this floor?"

The nurse quickly rapped on the keys of the computer in front of her. "Actually, he'll be moving down to the third floor. I don't see a room number yet."

"Thank you for letting me know."

"I know it's a little early, but why don't you go on in for your visitation. It'll hopefully be your last one here."

"That's very kind of you. Thank you."

"I'll buzz back and let them know you're coming." The nurse smiled and picked up the phone.

"Can you give me a minute? I'd like to call Mr. Brennan's niece and let her know."

"Certainly. Just let me know when you're ready." She replaced the receiver and went back to examining the computer screen.

Jonathan could hear Max's voice echoing down the narrow hallway of the ICU. Sounds of laughter filled the air from behind the curtain around his bed. Max was putting on a show. _His grand finale_ , Jonathan guessed. He peeked around the corner and flashed everyone a big smile.

"No one told me you were performing. Have I missed the whole show?"

"Mr. H! How are you this morning? I didn't expect to see you for a bit."

"Well since you're about to get some new digs, they let me sneak back early." Jonathan smiled at the three nurses surrounding Max's bed. _He's milking this for all it's worth._ He still wasn't one hundred percent—his speech was slower and he was considerably weaker, but he was almost there. The enthusiasm in his voice spoke volumes.

"I was just telling them the story about that time you and I were in Vegas…"

"Max, don't you remember the cardinal rule of Vegas?" He winked at the nurses.

"Oh right. I forgot."

"Mr. Brennan, you're quite a character. We're really going to miss you."

"Well, I'll just be a couple of floors away. Feel free to drop in anytime." Max replied with a smile.

The nurses said their goodbyes, leaving Jonathan alone with Max.

"There are some lovely ladies here."

"Yes, they are quite skilled at what they do." Jonathan nodded.

"Not only that, they look great while they're doing it." Max smiled. "Did you book me a smoking room with a view?"

"Sorry. You won't be lighting up for a little while longer. The nurse said that Dr. Walsh came in to see you this morning."

"He did. He asked me all sorts of questions and went over all my information with me. I'll be moving down to the third floor and then starting with some physical therapy. He said that once I'm back on my feet or zippin' around in a wheelchair then we can go home."

"That's great Max. Really great." Jonathan could feel a small lump in his throat.

"Listen, Mr. H…I have to tell you…everything you've done for me, and for Sarah and Michael while they've been here…"

Jonathan held up his hand. "Please. You don't need to say anything. That's what families do. We take care of each other."

"But I still have to say it. You never gave up on me. All the nurses here and Dr. Walsh told me so. But even if they hadn't I still knew, because I felt it. I knew you were here with me. I knew it all along." He reached out and took Jonathan's hand. The two men sat silently for several moments before Max spoke again.

"I want you to know something, and I mean this. Even if I had a son of my own, I don't think I could care anymore for him than I do for you." He blinked and a tear fell from his grey eye. Jonathan reached over and patted Max's hand with his own.

"And I don't think I'd be more proud of my own father than I am of you."

The two sat quietly for another minute with their hands intertwined. Max sighed heavily and spoke again.

"You know that Vegas rule? I think it applies to hospital rooms too." He winked.

"Of course it does, Max. Of course it does." Jonathan patted his hand once more.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer glanced over the top of a magazine when she heard the door to her hospital room open.

"Room Service," Jonathan called out, as he entered carrying a tray.

"Oh no. Did the good doctor get demoted? Now you're back to nursing status?"

"Nurse, Doctor, Surgeon, Delivery Boy. I do it all." He winked as he placed a tray on the rolling cart beside her bed.

"You certainly do." She grinned.

Jonathan sat down on the edge of the bed. Taking Jennifer's face in his hands, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. Softly, he kissed her lips several times before drawing back and giving her a big smile.

"I missed you." He whispered.

"I missed you too. I want out of here."

"The yummy bed is waiting down in the parking garage. Let's go."

"Don't I wish?"

"Let's not rush this, okay? Didn't you learn your lesson yesterday?"

"I know. But I just can't stand being away from you."

"And I hate being away from you too but it's just for a little while. Alright?"

"Alright." She paused and let out a sigh. Instantly, he felt that she was holding back.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She forced a smile.

"You're not telling me something."

"Dr. Walsh said the pathology report will be coming back either late today or early tomorrow."

"And you're worried?"

"I'm scared, yes." She looked down at the IV in her arm. Jonathan reached and lifted her chin so that their eyes met.

"We can't change what's in that report but we can deal with it. _We_ can deal with it…not just you. I love you—and a pathology report won't change the way I feel about you. I promise that no matter what happens, I will be right here with you." He leaned forward and kissed her again. She slipped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest.

"I love you too." She whispered.

"Don't ever stop." He reached up and gently ran his fingers through her hair.

Jonathan spent the day bouncing between the second and third floors of the hospital. Sarah stayed by her uncle's bed for most of the day and night, and Stephen joined Jennifer shortly after she'd finished breakfast. With everything quiet at the office, Jonathan was relaxed and happy that the two people he cared for most in the world were safe and on the road to recovery. He spent the morning calling Max's buddies and arranging a schedule of visits—Slats being first on the list. Though he knew the coming weeks and months would be difficult, he was prepared to meet them without hesitation. Jonathan was not the type of man to be discouraged by hard work. And caring for Jennifer and Max seemed like the most natural thing in the world for him. But in the back of his mind, tucked away deep within its innermost folds, was the fear that the pathology report would come back and his future with Jennifer would be in jeopardy. _Can you love someone enough to heal them? Can you love cancer away?_ He'd never been more certain of his feelings. But fear has a way of making even the most confident men play games of doubt. He'd given Jennifer the old _we'll meet this thing together_ speech, but was he really able to accept the fact that she might have cancer? He knew he could walk away from everything he'd worked for in his life: his career, his friends and social status. But she was not something he could give up. Just the thought of waking up one day with Jennifer gone was too much to consider.

The dinner hour was approaching and Stephen yawned. He stood and walked to the window in Jennifer's hospital room, looking at the busy world outside. She'd had a very good day; even managing to take a short walk to the door of her room and back. He'd smiled as he watched the look of pride on Jonathan's face. There was no doubt in his mind. His daughter would soon belong to someone else. He looked up at the sky overhead and closed his eyes, sharing a quiet moment with a woman he was certain was watching everything from a quaint cloud above.

"Stephen, would you like me to bring you something from the cafeteria?" Jonathan asked, as a nurse entered carrying Jennifer's evening tray.

"Actually, I'd like to stretch my legs and go down myself." He replied.

"I think I'll do the same." Jonathan turned to Jennifer, giving her a sweet smile. "We'll be back in just a bit. Can I get you anything before we go?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Alright."

Walking to the door, he held it open for Stephen and the two headed for the elevator. They rode down in silence, which Stephen fully appreciated. It impressed him that Jonathan wasn't always trying to engage him and score points.

"So, what's your poison tonight? Orange juice, tea, coffee? Shame they don't have a bar in this hospital. They seem to have everything else." Stephen winked at him as he grabbed a tray and waited in the serving line. The two men made their selections and Jonathan paid for their meals, despite Stephen's protest.

"Jonathan, are you ever going to allow me to buy a meal for you?"

"No sir, I don't think so."

"Well, it's very kind of you. But next time it's _my_ turn. I insist."

"When they put a bar in here, you can buy the first round, how's that?"

"I don't think my blood can wait that long. It's accustomed to being thinned on a regular basis." He raised his cup of tea to Jonathan and smiled.

They sat and enjoyed their meals, discussing a variety of topics: travel, art, and the current state of the union. If Max spoke with a British accent, it would be as though he were sitting here with him. Stephen was quite a character, just as Jonathan suspected. He was very well read, well bred and well spoken. But there was something behind his eyes that screamed back-room-pool-hustler. Jonathan was certain that his intentions were pure, but his pretensions were more for show.

The conversation slowed a bit as they finished up their dinner. Jonathan ordered a cup of coffee for dessert. Stephen asked for more tea. As much as it pained him to be away from Jennifer a minute longer than necessary, he knew he needed to take his time. Though he'd brokered some of the most intense and powerful business deals in the world, he'd never gone to bat on this subject before.

"Stephen, I hope that it's obvious not only to you, but to everyone around, how much I care for Jennifer."

"O _bvious_ pretty much covers it, I think."

"I'm crazy about her. I've known it since the moment we met."

"She does have that effect on people."

"Well, I don't mind that she has that effect on people as long as my name is at the top of the list."

"I hope it's obvious to you and everyone around how much she cares for you as well."

"What I'm trying to say, and I apologize if I'm not doing a very good job of it, is that, I'm in love with your daughter and I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Stephen paused for a moment, taking another sip of his tea. He'd tried to envision this moment for many years. The day that a man would tell him of his love for his only daughter. How long should he make him wait for a reply? One minute? Five minutes? A week? He smiled and considered the vast options before him as he remembered the joy he'd felt as a young man in love with Jennifer's mother, Suzanne. And with that very thought, he knew that even sixty seconds was an eternity.

"Are you merely expressing your feelings or asking for my blessing?"

"Both." Jonathan replied, looking him squarely in the eye.

"I hope it's obvious that I admire and respect you. You have made Jennifer so happy—a happiness that I've never seen her experience. You are the kind of man that fathers dream of for their little girls. But that being said—and I wouldn't be a good fatherly sort of man if I didn't say it, but don't you feel that you may be rushing things a bit? I mean, after all, you've only just met a couple of weeks ago. And with Max's condition and Jennifer's surgery…"

Jonathan nodded at his response.

"I understand your concerns, sir. Believe me, I've gone over those very same issues in my head many times. But it all comes back to the same answer. I love Jennifer and I want to be with her. I've never had these feelings for anyone before."

"You know, Jennifer's mother was just five days shy of her eighteenth birthday when I met her in France. It seemed as if everything was stacked against us. The timing, the physical distance between our homes and our lives, the difference in our ages—everything. But one thing remained constant. We loved each other. Period. Nothing else mattered. But there are _other_ things to consider here. Love doesn't pay the light bill."

"Luckily, I happen to own fifty percent of the shares in _the_ major energy corporation here in California. I don't think the light bill will be a problem."

"That's not what I mean. I'm talking about the real day to day. Not the flowers and cards in the hospital. Jonathan, we don't even know what the pathology report is yet." Stephen's voice trailed off as he tried to stay composed.

"Mr. Edwards," Jonathan's tone was serious. "I don't want Jennifer contingent on some medical report. I want Jennifer regardless of some medical report. Don't you see? That's why I'm telling you this now. I want you to know that my intentions—that my love for Jennifer is real and will not waiver based on what some doctor has to say. I've waited my whole life for her. And any future I have with her will be worth the hardships that may lie ahead."

Stephen picked up his cup and took another sip of his tea. He was quiet, continuing to sip his tea as he analyzed Jonathan's words.

"Well, it appears that I must offer you an apology. Not for underestimating your intentions, but for overestimating mine. It seems that I could stand to learn a lesson or two from you about commitment. I guess that I'm just a little gun shy and don't want to see anyone's feelings in the rubbish heap."

"I understand."

Stephen sighed and raised his cup to Jonathan.

"Well, moments like this are cause for celebration. May I offer a toast, then?"

"By all means," Jonathan smiled and raised his coffee mug.

XXXXXXXXXX

Stephen exited the elevator at the second floor, leaving Jonathan alone to ride up to three to check in on Max. He was sleeping and Sarah sat curled up in a chair reading. He motioned for her to grab some dinner, then sat down in her chair. Quietly, Sarah exited and Jonathan picked up the racing form from the bedside table. He smiled as he noticed Max's picks circled in green. Max never used any other color to make his selections. _"The Treasury Department uses green ink, and so do I._ "

Again, he smiled and looked over at his friend. He recalled their conversation from early that morning. Jonathan knew that Max cared for him though he'd never really said it in so many words. That wasn't Max's style. He wasn't a wordy kind of man. He let you know where you stood with his actions. Like the time Max helped him purchase his first tuxedo _. "Look the part, Kid."_ Or the time he'd rented a limousine to deliver him to the first day of grad school classes. _"Arrive in style, Kid."_ Without Max…well, without him, Jonathan knew he would've been nothing.

Sarah returned a half hour later. Max was still sleeping. Though he tried to convince her to make an early night of it, she wanted to stay. Jonathan didn't argue. He promised to check back in on them on his way out. He gave Sarah a hug and walked back to the elevator. Standing inside, he pressed the button to take him down a floor. That's when he remembered it—his dream. And the tiny black bugs. Glancing at his watch, he guessed that it would be tomorrow before the news of the report came. It was after seven now, and the chances of hearing anything this late were slim. Another night of worry ahead. He quietly entered Jennifer's room, surprised to find her alone.

"Where's your father?"

"He was looking a little tired, so I sent him back to the hotel."

"He did seem a little tired."

"Actually, I think he's got a backgammon game on tap with the bartender at the hotel. I'm sure a big martini and a big win and he'll be good as new. How's Max?"

"He's sleeping now. Sarah grabbed some dinner and I read his racing form. I tried to get her to go home, but she insisted on staying a while longer. She's really been a trooper through all this. Luckily, Michael will be flying back in a couple of days. Any word from Dr. Walsh?"

"Nothing."

"I know the wait is killing you. But let's think positively, okay? No news is good news, right?"

"I guess."

"Now, how about a movie? I brought something from my private collection that I thought you might enjoy. A movie that premiered, actually, the year you were born." He reached into his briefcase, producing a laptop and a DVD case. "And, I've got quite a bit of pull around here so I can probably score some popcorn and Junior Mints if you'd like."

He pulled his chair up close to her bed and slipped his arm through the side rails. Finding her hand, he laced his fingers tightly in hers. The title appeared on the screen and Jennifer shook her head.

"The Thin Man?" She laughed. "I love this movie. It's one of my all-time favorites. How'd you know?"

"It's a classic. I just had a hunch."

"I just love their little dog. I'm a sucker for a good dog movie. Old Yeller. Lassie. One Hundred and One Dalmatians."

"Me too. You ever had a dog?" He asked.

"No, just horses. I've always wanted one though. I sometimes babysit my neighbor's cat in DC when she goes away on business. But I'm not a cat person. And I've just never had much time to devote to a dog. How 'bout you?"

"Yeah, I had this little blond puppy once."

"Yes I met Angela, remember?" She smirked.

"Cute. You're very funny, Red. But seriously, if you were going to get a dog, what breed?"

"Oh I don't know. Nothing too big. No Great Danes or Retrievers. And nothing too small either. No Chihuahuas or Yorkies. I guess I'd just like some good-natured, middle-sized, obedient dog." She paused and gave him a sideways glance. "You're not thinking of buying me a dog, are you?"

"Would I do something like that?"

"Absolutely."

"No I wouldn't. A dog is a serious commitment. If we're going to have a dog, we'll pick one out together. Deal?" He extended his free hand to her.

"Agreed." She shook it firmly. "And what exactly are we betting if you don't hold up your end of the deal?"

"I promise that if I break down and purchase a canine without your consent that I will give you the pleasure of selecting the tattoo of your choice for me. Sound fair?"

She flashed him a wide grin. "I know just the tattoo. And it's going right on your Asta!"

XXXXXXXXXX

It was midnight when he slipped his keys from his pocket at the door of his apartment. Once inside, he dropped them in the bowl beside the phone and glanced at the answering machine. No flashing light. Kicking off his shoes, he made his way to the bar, pausing to flip on the stereo. He examined his inventory and decided on Scotch. Big surprise. Pouring two fingers worth in a glass, he headed to the kitchen in search of its perfect partner—the all important ice cube. He hummed along to the song echoing softly from the stereo as he padded his way back to the living room. Before plopping down on the sofa, he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it on the floor. Lying back, he rested his glass on his chest. His breathing was relaxed as he replayed the events of the day in his mind. He'd done it. He'd talked to Stephen. He wasn't surprised by his initial reservations. In fact, he'd expected it. Was it too soon? Should he wait? He'd waited his whole life. Would a few more months really matter? He reached up and found Jennifer's ring, still safely hanging around his neck. Pulling it back and forth across the chain, he remembered their firsts. Their first conversation at the bench in the courtyard. Their first date at the hidden pizzeria. Their first kiss in the elevator. Their first nap. So many memories they'd already made in just a few weeks. _Some people can spend their entire lives together and not have that many special moments._

His mind continued to turn back the clock to the first and only time they'd made love. What had passed between them was something that even Jonathan couldn't describe. It wasn't just a physical release between two people. It was something more—much more. His soul had connected with Jennifer. And his soul now had a purpose. Would he ever be able to listen to a love song again without thinking of her? Would he ever been in the presence of anything beautiful, or natural, sincere or honest and not think of her? One thing he did know: he believed in miracles. And now there was only one question to consider. A question only Fate could answer: Did Jennifer believe? He lifted the glass to his lips and took another drink. That one simple question, like a single drop of rain, led to several and in seconds, a downpour of questions flooded his head. Did Jennifer want to get married? And what about Max? Could Jennifer live in the apartment comfortably? Would Max be comfortable sharing close quarters with them? Would Max even care to stay on with him if he and Jennifer married? Would Jennifer want Max to move out? Maybe they could buy a house-—one big enough for the three of them? Would Jennifer even want to stay in LA? What about her career? She had a life in DC that he knew very little about—her apartment, her friends. Maybe she wasn't ready to jump into anything. Did she dream of staying home to raise a family, or traveling and writing full time? Did she even want children? Maybe Stephen's apprehension was fueled by something other than paternal concern. Maybe he knew something. Maybe Jennifer confided in him about the future. As much as they had shared, he realized for the first time that there were still so many things he didn't know about her. Her favorite movie. The name of her perfume. The first boy she ever kissed. He knew he loved her and that he'd never loved another woman—never would. Stephen's words bounced around inside his head for a few minutes.

 _Love doesn't pay the light bill. Love doesn't pay the light bill._

As he nursed his drink, he considered the deeper meaning behind Stephen's comment. When the whirlwind of romance dies down, what are you left with? He stared up at the ceiling, allowing these thoughts to simmer. Several minutes stretched into hours before Jonathan realized that he'd emptied his glass and exhausted his possibilities. He stood and yawned, then carried his glass to the kitchen. He glanced at the clock on the microwave—three minutes shy of two a.m. Making his way through the apartment, he clicked off the lights one by one and locked the door. His last stop was the stereo. Many times, when Max was in Seattle, he'd just leave it on. He'd always had trouble falling asleep without some white noise in the background. Reaching for the knob, he paused a moment and listened. Don Henley's voice gave him a shot of comfort, and he knew without a doubt that he and Jennifer would make it in the long run. With a smile and a nod, he flipped the stereo off with one final thought: _Evidently, Fate is a disc jockey as well_.

XXXXXXXXXX

The phone rang, and he instantly jerked back into consciousness. His eyes focused on the clock beside the bed. Two forty-eight. His heart pounded in his chest. Late night calls seldom brought good news.

"Jonathan Hart." He answered.

"It's me." She whispered.

"Jennifer, are you alright? What's wrong?" He sat up in the darkness.

"I'm fine. I just can't sleep. I'm…I'm sorry I woke you…I shouldn't have called. Go back to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

"No, it's okay. I just went to bed a little while ago. I'm really not that tired." He tried to hide his yawn.

"Are you sure?"

"Are you sure that everything's alright?"

"I'm just missing you, that's all. I thought that maybe something was wrong. That's why I called. Call it a weird _vibe_ or whatever. Is that crazy?"

"No, that's not crazy."

"I just needed to hear your voice and to know that you're okay."

"So tell me about this _vibe._ Describe it."

"I don't know that I can. I've just had a weird feeling—like you were upset or something. I laid here for the longest time after you left, trying to go to sleep. But this feeling just came over me."

"What kind of a feeling? Why would you think I'd be upset about anything?"

"I don't know…" She tried to sound uncertain, but wasn't very convincing.

"Jennifer, please tell me. It's okay. You can tell me anything."

She was silent for a moment before she answered him.

"I had this feeling that you might be having doubts about me—about us." Her heart was now beating fast.

"Define _doubts."_

"You know…doubts. Second thoughts, apprehensions, trepidations. Pick a synonym."

"Why would I have any reason to feel that way?"

"I don't know, Jonathan, that's why I'm asking." He could tell by the change in her tone that she was agitated.

"Oh Jennifer!" He chuckled.

"So you do think I'm crazy?"

"No, I don't think you're crazy. I think it's amazing that you can be so in tune with me despite the fact that we're not even in the same room."

"I was right. You have been having second thoughts."

"No I haven't. But I hung out on my sofa for almost two hours, listening to the stereo and feeling absolutely certain that _you_ were."

"Me? Why would I have any reason to feel that way?"

"Well I don't know, Jennifer, that's why _I'm_ asking." He smiled.

"So we've both been lying around since you left here wondering the same thing then, is that it?"

"Sounds like it. What do you make of it, Red?"

"Can only be one explanation."

"I'm all ears."

"We're perfect for each other?"

"Bingo."

She bit her lip and smiled. "So what kinds of thoughts were you having?"

"Well, they were mostly about your calendar."

"My calendar?"

"Your upcoming plans."

"You mean after I leave the hospital?"

"Well, I was thinking a little more long term than that."

"During the physical therapy?"

"A little farther down the road even."

"How much farther?"

"I don't know. I was thinking maybe five or six…"

"Months?"

"Decades."

"Normally I don't like to commit to something that far in advance. What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well, I'm big on celebrating firsts, you know."

"No, I wasn't aware of that."

"Oh yeah. I'm incredibly sentimental. Love to celebrate anniversaries of all sorts. You know, the really important things. I was thinking that maybe you'd like to meet me in the elevator and celebrate our first kiss—say, fifty years from now."

"Gosh, I don't know. I'll have to check my day planner."

"I was afraid of that."

"Let me give my social secretary a call first thing in the morning and we'll see if we can't work something out."

"Jennifer?"

"Yes?"

"I'm crazy about you."

"Me too."

"Listen, all kidding aside, I made a promise that I would never be anything but completely honest with you. I want you to know the truth. I really was having some thoughts earlier. You're vibe was dead-on."

Jennifer was silent, unsure how to respond.

"I realize this is not something that I should be discussing with you over the phone, but I have to say it."

She had no idea what was coming, only that his tone was serious.

"Okay."

"We have typewriters here in Los Angeles. Word processors, computers, laptops, the works."

"Really? Is that so?"

"Not only that, we have all sorts of highly respected news publications—newspapers and magazines. We even have a couple of very respectable publishing houses, for beautiful budding novelists."

"And you're telling me this because…"

"Because I don't want you to go back to Washington."

"Jonathan, let's not discuss this right now."

"But I need answers, Jennifer. I wanna know what's in your head."

"I don't have any answers. I don't even know the questions."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? Or that's just Jennifer at her realistic best?"

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No, I'm being selfish. It's what I do best."

"Well as long as you admit it."

A long pause fell between them, then Jennifer spoke again.

"I worry that maybe I'm just a burden waiting to happen."

"A burden? On me?" He was confused by her comment.

"You don't see the situation the way I do. You're a powerful man. An important man. You could have anyone."

"First of all, we're not a _situation_. And secondly, I choose you."

"But why me?"

"You really need to ask?"

Jennifer paused a moment, unable to verbalize her true feelings.

"Look, you want the truth? It's really very simple. You're from the east coast. That's why I want you." He added.

"You want to be with me based on _geographic locale_?"

"East coast girls are hip. I really dig those style they wear."

"Jonathan, be serious."

"I am being serious."

"No you're not. You're doing what _you_ do best. You're using that charming wit to avoid answering my question."

"Jennifer, I could make a list from now to the end of my life and I'd still be coming up with new reasons for why I want to be with you. Everyday we're together, I find out something new about you and I fall in love with you all over again."

Jennifer listened, quietly wrapping the phone cord around her finger.

"See, I can be serious when I need to." Jonathan waited for a response, but she was still quiet. "Are you gonna tell me what's really wrong?"

"There's one thing that might have to be added to that list."

"What?"

Her silence on the other end answered the question for him. He paused.

"You're talking about the report."

"I'm talking about cancer, Jonathan. You can't even say the word, can you? I may have cancer. Say it. Say it to me now."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't."

"Say it!" She snapped.

"Jennifer, why are you doing this? I don't get it. Would you just listen to yourself for a minute? Listen to what you're saying. I will not give in to this."

"Just forget it. I shouldn't have called you."

"Jennifer…" Jonathan waited for a response, but she'd hung up.

XXXXXXXXXX

She flipped her pillow over, avoiding the wet spot her tears had made on the case. The emotions she was feeling were just too overwhelming to define. She couldn't think straight. A steady stream of tears blurred her vision. She closed her eyes and thought of King—of riding away on him, with his mane whipping wildly against her skin. To feel the tall grass on her legs and the cool creek water splashing up against them as they crossed from one pasture to another. She would ride King so hard and so far—far enough back that when she cooled him down, she'd unsaddle him in a flash and skip all the way home from the paddock on the legs of an eleven year old girl. Legs that would carry her into the arms of her waiting mother. A mother who would hug her, hold her, and gently smooth her hair back off her forehead. A mother that wasn't in pain. A mother that would be with her forever.

She pulled the sheet up to her face, wiping the hot tears from her cheeks. Her eyes burned, and she knew they'd be swollen when the morning rolled around. She reached for a tissue and wiped her nose. There, surrounding the tissue box, she saw the many reminders of his love. The Dr. Seuss book. The cards from the flowers. The bobblehead figure of Larry. The letter. _Oh Jonathan_. She shook her head in loving disbelief and reached for the letter. Carefully, she slipped it from the envelope and reread the words. His words. Words that even she didn't know he was capable of writing. She read the letter through once, then returned to his final passage:

 _It is time to move on from my story and write your own ending. The ending you want…an ending filled with a lifetime of love, alongside a man who wants nothing more than to make you his very own, giving you what he feels you deserve…the fullness of life._

 _What have I done?_ She reached for the phone and dialed his apartment. It rang four times before the machine picked up. _How_ _many messages did he leave at the hotel? Seven, was it?_ The beep sounded before she'd had a chance to really compose her thoughts.

"Jonathan, it's me. I don't blame you for not picking up. They say that love means never having to say you're sorry, but that's a lie." She bit her quivering lip. "I'm through with lies. I truly am very sorry."

Quietly, she replaced the receiver and returned the letter to its envelope. She pressed the button on the bedrail and turned off the overhead reading light. In the darkness of her hospital room, she replayed the last few weeks and the days since Jonathan had come into her life. One minute, she was waiting for an elevator and the next, she was falling in love with a man she hardly knew. A man who made her feel something she'd never felt before. The timing, the distance between their professional lives, and the number of years between their ages added up to one thing. She was reliving the life her mother enjoyed for a brief moment in time. A life that she would still be living had it not been for a silent assassin. A half hour passed and she reached for the button to the nurses' station on the side rail of the bed.

"Yes Ms. Edwards?"

"I'd like to splash some cold water on my face. Do you think someone could come in here for a minute and help me to the bathroom? No rush. Just whenever you have a moment."

"Sure. Someone will be down in a bit."

"Thank you."

She waited several minutes, listening intently for the sound of footsteps outside her door but heard nothing. _I'll count to one hundred, then I'll give them another buzz_ , she decided. Slowly she began counting, but stopped at thirty-nine when she heard voices just outside her door. Finally, as the door slowly opened, Jennifer pushed herself up on her elbows.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I'd really like to splash some cold water on my face."

"Let me get the light." The nurse flipped the switch in the bathroom. She returned to Jennifer, immediately noticing the traces of tears on her face.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

"Are you in pain? Do you need another dose of pain medication?"

"I'm in pain, but not the kind that can be cured with a pill." She forced a weak smile.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"I thought that _not_ talking about was initially the best course of action. Wrong. Then I thought, well what the hell, I'll talk about it. Wrong again. Damned if I do, damned if I don't."

"Now it can't be all that bad."

"It's not good."

The nurse could sense that Jennifer didn't really feel like opening up, so she didn't press her. She helped her into the bathroom, praising her efforts. It was slow, but steady. Giving her some privacy, the nurse shut the door.

"I'll be right here if you need me. Let me know when you're ready to get back in bed."

Jennifer braced herself against the sink and inspected the woman in the mirror, scrutinizing every detail. She'd never been so frightened by the image staring back at her. _Why are you doing this?_ She turned on the faucet and watched the stream of water flow from the tap, disappearing down the drain. _Why are you making this so hard?_ She splashed several handfuls of cool water on her face, and reached for a towel. Again, she studied the reflection before her. _Jonathan was right. He was right for not giving in to me_. _I'm a complete and total wreck._ Jennifer turned and softly knocked on the door.

"I'm ready." She called out.

The door opened and she met his eyes.

"Jennifer…" He whispered, holding his arms out to steady her.

She looked at him. His face was filled with compassion and concern.

"Oh Jonathan…I'm…I'm…" She couldn't hold back the tears.

Without a word, he helped her back into bed and slid in beside her. With her head against chest, he held her as she cried. He remembered how Max had looked when he'd first seen him in ICU. Delicate. Fragile. Breakable.

"I am so sorry. There's not even a word I can think of…" Her throat was tight, making her words barely a whisper.

"It's alright. I'm here now. Everything's going to be alright."

He recognized the signs, seeing them in himself just a few weeks before. The inevitable emotional build-up and the necessary emotional release. He continued to hold her close, and her body began to relax against his. After several minutes, Jennifer looked up at him.

"I don't know what I'm doing or why I'm doing it. I'm just so sorry."

"Jennifer, you've just been through major surgery. You've had a tremendous physical and emotional strain on your body. You've been trying to be so strong, I know. But sometimes strength is greatest when it grows from your weakest point."

"I'm afraid." She wiped a tear from her cheek. "I'm so afraid. That report is coming back and I may have cancer."

"I know you are. I'm afraid too." He tucked her hair behind her ear. "And I'm the one who should be apologizing. You've tried to talk to me and I was too scared to listen. I'm so sorry. You reached out and I wouldn't listen." He reached and wiped another tear from her face. "It's okay to be scared. But I want you to know something. You don't have to do it by yourself. You have a man that loves you more than anything or anyone on this earth. And you have a father that loves you the same." Jonathan looked at her, as the tears once again began their descent down her cheeks.

"That's why this is so hard. It's you and my father. That's why I'm afraid."

"But we'll be right here with you."

"That's what my father thought about my mother. But it didn't happen."

Jonathan was confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean my father thought he could take care of my mother, but it was just too much for him."

"You mean after the accident? I wasn't aware that she'd survived." He shook his head, still puzzled.

"My mother didn't have an accident."

"But at Nino's place…" He started.

"What I told you that day about my mother's accident was a lie. Just like the lie about Elliot and playing polo." Jennifer sat up and took a deep breath. "The lies were easier than the truth, and more convenient." She turned her eyes down away from him.

Jonathan was surprised. He'd never held anything back from her.

"Well, obviously you had your reasons for not telling me. And we barely knew each other then. We'd just met, really." He reached and took her hand. "But I hope you trust me enough now to tell me about it."

Jennifer took another deep breath, but it didn't the stop tears that once more filled her eyes. She looked up at Jonathan. His expression was a balance of honesty and heartbreak. How had she allowed herself to get to this point with him? _Why didn't I just tell him the truth?_ She'd felt the trust and safety in his eyes from the very start—from the moment she looked up at him at the elevator. Jonathan talked of his selfish motivations but she knew that she was truly the selfish one. She expected full disclosure but didn't want to play by that rule herself. The look on his face now reminded her of the way he looked that night outside The Four Seasons. He'd chased her down, determined that she had his side of the truth. And in classic Jennifer fashion, she'd reacted just as she had done countless times before. That eleven year old girl got on her horse and rode away.

"My mother died from cancer. She had cancer and died when I was eleven years old."

Jonathan looked at her; stunned. Not so much by what she said but the way she said it. It was that same tone she'd had the afternoon when she'd told him of her tumor. The way it just rolled off her tongue...

"What type of cancer?"

"A rare type of lymphoma. It was in the advanced stages when she was diagnosed."

"My God, Jennifer. I'm so sorry."

"No one told me she was sick. I just watched her deteriorate before my eyes with no real explanation. I came home from school one afternoon and she was gone."

"No one told you?"

Jennifer shook her head. "My mother refused treatment. According to my father, she wouldn't spend her remaining days begin slowly killed by chemotherapy or radiation."

"I don't know what to say." Jonathan continued to rub her thumb with his, unable to find any words of comfort. This was certainly something he hadn't been prepared to hear.

"What can you say? When my father finally told me the truth, I was angry. I thought that my mom just gave up, you know? Like she didn't think we were worth fighting for. But now, I understand why she did what she did. Her time was limited, and she wanted to be able to spend it at home with me and my father—not in hospitals or clinics. Over the years, my anger has turned to admiration. She made a tough choice."

"Jennifer, your tumor is different. It's not the same thing your mother had. And Dr. Walsh is very positive. We just can't jump to conclusions yet."

"I'm not scared of dying, Jonathan. I'm not afraid to die. It's leaving behind the people I love—you and my father. That's what scares me. I watched my father drink himself into oblivion over the death of my mother. That's why he sent me away to school. He just couldn't deal with it. It wasn't about his work or his travels. That's what he tells everyone. Another great Edwards lie. I can't put my father through that again. And the thought of putting you through it..."

"But…"

"I'm so ashamed. Ashamed that I kept this from you. Would I have been better off knowing my mother's condition? Well, we'll never know. I think about the way I acted sometimes. If I'd only known the minutes ticking by were numbered." She paused a moment, and brushed another tear from her cheek. "I'm sorry that I lied to you again. You've got to know that you're the last person on this earth that I'd want to hurt. But I swear on my mother's grave that all skeletons have now been removed from their respective closets. I completely understand if you're furious or disgusted. I wouldn't blame you."

Though tears made trails down her face, she spoke calmly and rationally, never once raising her voice. Her tone was peaceful and sincere, and Jonathan knew she was relieved her secret was out in the open.

"I want you to know something. There's nothing you could say to me that would make me doubt my love for you. Nothing. I love you. Period. I want to be with you. With or without cancer, with or without a wheelchair." He kissed her softly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. The room filled with silence and they rested in the comfort of each other arms. He continued to stroke her hair, imagining the woman beside him as an innocent and scared eleven year old. She'd greeted one morning with a mother, and went to bed that same night without one.

"I know you must miss her terribly."

"Yes, I do."

"Tell me about her. If you feel up to it, I mean."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"Everything. Everything you remember that was special about her."

Jennifer's mind played a montage of images from her childhood. There were so many special moments she'd shared with her mother.

"When I think about my mother, I think about lots of things. Her hands. My hands are her hands. Sometimes, when I reach for something, it's like watching my mother reach out. Our smiles are very similar too. I can really see it now in some of the old photos of her and Pa. I'm taller than my mother was but we're built much the same way. My mother had the most beautiful accent. She was French, remember? She would tuck me in at night, and smooth my hair out across my pillow. My hair was long then, and I'd get so hot at night that I couldn't stand it touching my neck. I can still feel my mother's fingers in my hair. And she'd sing these little lullabies to me in French. She had a beautiful voice too. And she loved to surprise me. I'd come home from school and find some little _treat-prize,_ as we called them, on my bed. She'd never tell me. She'd just wait for me to find it. Or notes. She was big on writing me little notes. Notes taped to the bathroom mirror. Notes in my lunch box. When I'd spend the night with my best friend, Camille, she'd hide little notes in my overnight bag."

"Is that where your love of writing comes from?"

"Well, my mother wasn't really a writer. She did write some poetry. I found several poems she'd written to my father. They were unbelievable. But aside from that, and the notes, she didn't really write much. Her passion was in the kitchen. She loved to cook and she was fantastic. I was a chubby little girl because of it. Every meal was special at our house. We always dressed for dinner, and we always ate off the fine china. My mother had a way of making the everyday and mundane _'une petite celébration pour trios.'_ Actually, I think my father had as much to do with that as she did. They both loved gardening, too. My mother made sure there were small bouquets of fresh flowers in every room. My father started out being the number one green thumb, but my mother quickly surpassed him. Her green thumb had the Midas touch. She could make anything grow. To this day, when my father visits her grave, he only takes flowers from her garden. I think he feels like he's keeping a part of her alive by spending so much time in her garden. He traveled quite a bit when I was really young. But when he was home, he was completely focused on us."

"That's the way it should be."

"My father has always joked that he'd never be in a club that would have him as a member—you know, the old Groucho Marx line. But I think he really felt that way—especially when it came to my mother. I honestly think my father woke up everyday surprised that my mother was his wife."

"Was it his idea not to tell you about her cancer?"

"They talked about it and decided together. They just wanted to spare me any hurt or anxiety. And I was young. Hardly the mental capacity to deal with it."

Jonathan rested his chin on her head. "They loved each other very much, didn't they?"

"Yeah, they really did even though they weren't real demonstrative with their feelings. They were subtle. Very subtle. It would be just a look or a touch. I can remember the way my father would gently caress my mother's cheek in passing. He didn't say anything, but the look on his face—it was that same look of surprise. You could just see it in their eyes. Like they had this secret between them. A secret they _thought_ they were hiding, but they weren't fooling anyone."

"And he was older than your mom, right? Quite a bit older?"

"Oh yes. And that caused quite a stir between my father and my mother's parents. My father was thirty-one when he met my mother. She was only seventeen. Almost eighteen—just before her eighteenth birthday.

"Wow. Thirteen years."

"Yeah, I know. But they proved them all wrong."

"Well, when you know you've found _the one_ , things like age, and space and time don't really matter, do they?"

"No, I don't believe they do."

"Things like jobs, apartments…pathology reports…" His voiced trailed off.

She looked up at him. His eyes said it all, and his verbal compass spun around in search of a direction.

"In the big picture of love? No, those things don't matter either."

"Do you really feel that way, Jennifer? Honestly?"

"I didn't for a long time, but I do now."

"Will you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Don't ever let that feeling leave you."

He cradled her head against his shoulder and held her. They lay together in the hospital bed; her hand tucked under his. Minutes passed without a word. Jennifer's tears had stopped, but he could still feel her rapid heartbeat against his chest. _God, she's been through so much_. As they lay there quietly, Jonathan closed his eyes and remembered their afternoon lunch. He could still see her slender index finger gently caressing the rim of her wine glass as she talked. And the afternoon in the park, when they'd watched the young couple and the kite. Even the look of wonder on her face when they'd stopped in at Doc's apartment. A wine glass. A kite. A room full of books. Completely ordinary and nondescript—except when he'd seen them all through her eyes. He recalled the torrent of questions that rained down on his mind earlier. Did any of that really matter? They'd come this far. Would Fate be a gentleman and open the door for them?

"Jennifer?" He began.

"Yes." She whispered.

"I don't want to spend another moment of my life without you." He sat up and turned to face her, still holding her hand. Looking deep into those autumn eyes, the unanswered questions from hours before just silently fell away, like sand running through his hands. "I love you, Jennifer and I want you to share your life with me. I want you to be my wife."

"Now look, if you're just trying to comfort a girl in her hour of need…"

"Jennifer," He pressed his finger over her lips. "Will you marry me?" He asked.

She reached and pulled his hand down away from her mouth.

"I don't have a ring. I'm sorry. I wasn't exactly planning on proposing to you in the middle of the night in a hospital bed." He looked down at her hand. "Not many style points there, I suppose." He winked and she had to laugh.

"Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"Yes, I did."

She paused a moment, giving him a playful smile.

"No ring, no answer." She shook her head.

"You gotta be kidding me?"

"I'm old fashioned, what can I say?"

"Hold on. I'll be right back." Jonathan slid off the bed and walked out of the room. Within a couple of minutes, he was back with a huge smile on his lips. He returned to the bed and kneeled beside it. Taking her left hand in his, he looked up at her and smiled again. Shaking her head, she smiled back.

"Jennifer Claire Edwards, will you make me the happiest man in the world?" He slipped a Sharpie marker into her hand.

"This…is a Sharpie marker." She held it up with a grin.

"Yes, I know. All the jewelry stores are closed."

"So, what? You found a twenty-four hour Office Max instead?"

"Something like that."

"How can I say no?" She smiled down at him.

"You can't."

Jonathan stood and leaned over the bed. He traced the outline of her lips with his thumb, then kissed his future wife with a happiness he'd never known. Jennifer reached up and touched his cheek. His rough whiskers felt good against her hand. They were real. He was real. This was real. It wasn't a cliff top event, with the sunset on the horizon and the waves crashing below. There were no violins, no flowers—no champagne or diamond rings. There were no banners or horse-drawn carriages. It was nothing more than one man…and one woman…and one love.

One. True. Love.

"Now," He took the marker from Jennifer's hand and removed the cap. "time to write the insurance policy."

"What insurance policy?"

"This one…" Carefully, and with his best penmanship, he made a notation on the third finger of her left hand: _RESERVED_.

 **TBC**

 **Go ahead. You know you want to.**


	10. Chapter 10

Jonathan opened his eyes, feeling a hand upon his shoulder. The room was dark. He could barely make out the image of Dr. Walsh standing beside him. Carefully, he inched his way to the side of the bed, gently sliding out from under Jennifer's arm. Once on his feet, he ran his hands through his hair a couple of times and checked his watch. Dr. Walsh pointed to the door and the two men quietly slipped out of her room.

"Mr. Hart," He whispered, shaking his head back and forth. "you think we charge a lot to sleep in the waiting room chairs. Now I find you in bed with my patient?"

"Can you blame me?"

"No, I guess not."

"I can't believe it's already eight o'clock."

"Word at the nurses' station is that you were here all night."

"Now hold up. That's not entirely true. I did leave here around eleven-thirty, but Jennifer had a bad night. She called me and I came back up around three."

"A bad night in what way?"

"The mental aspect of what's happening finally caught up with physical."

"Well, I'm grateful that you were here with her. One of the nurses noted that she'd been visibly upset in her report. We discussed the different types of emotions that she'd be facing prior to the surgery. Everyone deals with it in a different way."

"We talked everything out last night. Hopefully, she's on the upswing from here on out."

"I see that she had her last dose of pain medication around five. We should just let her sleep. Her body may take a step back today since she didn't really rest during the night." Dr. Walsh gave him a serious look.

"In other words, I should find somewhere else to rest my laurels for a while?"

"Yes, that's pretty much what I'm advising."

"Well, I'd planned on spending time with Max right now anyway. He's really looking great. I don't know how to thank you again. You've saved the two people who matter most in the world to me."

"Mr. Brennan's recovery is nothing short of miraculous. He's really surprised us. We never know what will happen following an aneurysm. His motor functioning is very impressive. His fine motor skills are surprisingly strong. He can write his name, he can hold a spoon. I think it's the legs we'll have to encourage the most—that left one especially."

"Max never said anything about his leg to me."

"Don't worry. Sometimes certain parts of the body pick up their mail at different times."

"Their mail?"

"The brain sends out these little postcards saying, 'everything's fine, let's get going.' I just think that left leg hasn't checked its mailbox yet. But I'm not too worried about it. The PT staff here is wonderful. You're going to know them all really well, since you'll have not one, but two going through it. In fact, Max is scheduled for his first session later today."

"Today? After just being moved out of ICU? Isn't that a little soon?"

Dr. Walsh placed his hand on Jonathan's shoulder. "I assure you, he'll be fine. It's important that he be up and moving as much as possible. We're going to make sure that he doesn't overdo it though. And you can be right there with him. He'd appreciate a cheering section, I know."

"Okay, you're the doctor." Just as Jonathan spoke, Dr. Walsh's beeper went off.

"And this little contraption reminds me of it constantly," He patted the pager on his waist. Slipping it off, he checked the number.

"One more thing before you go. The pathology report?"

"You must have ESP. That was the lab paging me right now."

"So you're on your way to get it? Right now?"

"Yes, but I have to go over the result first. And I have several other patients to check on too. I should be able to be back in an hour of so with the report—as long as I don't have any emergencies crop up between now and then."

"I'll give Mr. Edwards a call and let him know."

"Thank you. The more family surrounding her and supporting her, the better—whether the news is good or otherwise." He patted his shoulder before turning to make his way back to the nurses' station.

Jonathan glanced back at the door to Jennifer's room. Ignoring Dr. Walsh's request, he opened it quietly and crept back over beside her bed. Looking down at her, he smiled. The rise and fall of her chest was slow and rhythmic. Her hands were relaxed. He looked down at the word written on her ring finger. It hadn't been a dream. He'd found her—the woman he wanted to spend his days and nights with. She was real. _And she loves me_ , he thought. He sighed and thought of Stephen. He wasn't the only man to be surprised by the love of an amazing woman.

Max was sitting up when he poked his head into his room. Even though he'd seen him countless time, he was still surprised by his hair…or lack thereof. His coloring was dramatically better, with the exception of the circles under his eyes. He smiled when he saw Jonathan's head peeking around the door.

"Mr. H, you look like hell. You okay?"

"I'm fine, Max. Long night." He smiled.

"You haven't been playing poker without me, have you?"

"Nope, no poker." He pulled a chair up close to the bed and patted Max's hand.

"Based on the luggage under your eyes I'd say my night was definitely better than yours."

"I don't think so." Jonathan smiled.

"Have you walked passed a mirror yet this morning?"

"Listen, I spoke with Dr. Walsh a little while ago. He mentioned that you're having some trouble with your left leg."

"It's not cooperating. I tell it to move, but it just lays there."

"Does it hurt?"

"It don't hurt. I keep calling, but it won't answer. Know what I mean?"

"I think so."

"I'm starting with the therapy thing this afternoon. He assured me that I'd start out doing little tasks and then build up to the tough stuff."

"He told me the same thing. I'm sure you'll be fine. He's gotten you this far."

"I'm not worried about it. The sooner I get on with it, the sooner you can treat me to dinner."

"That's a deal." He smiled, relieved that they could once again enjoy something as simple as a conversation between two old friends. They sat for several minutes discussing the string of visitors who'd been to see him the day before. Max's tone was jovial. It was definitely the old Max—telling tales in his classic fashion.

"I guess that's why I was zonked when you stopped in last night."

"Well, you had a steady stream of well-wishers. You're not used to it yet. I know your buddies have really been missing you. When I made the calls, I think most of them were in their cars and on the way down here before we even hung up."

"They're great guys."

Glancing down at his hands, he imagined the inscription on Jennifer's finger. He turned his gaze to Max's left hand and the modest wedding band still in place—his solid gold reminder.

"Max, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"It's about your wife."

Jonathan paused. He knew he was entering hallowed ground, and would have to step lightly. Though they'd discussed everything under the sun, this subject sat on a dusty shelf of memories, rarely touched."

"What would you like to know?" Though his expression was somber, Jonathan could tell from his voice that it was safe to proceed.

"Well, how did you know? I mean, what was it like for you?"

"You mean, what did she have that the other ones didn't?"

"Exactly."

"Well, that was a long time ago. I was just a kid then. But I can still remember it like it was yesterday." He stopped and took a breath. "As crazy as this is gonna sound to you, it's the absolute truth. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew. It was love at first sight."

"In that club?"

"She was up on that stage singing her little heart out. Gosh, she looked like an angel too. The club was all dark—just a spotlight on her. And everyone smoked like chimneys back then, so the place was full of smoke. There was this blue haze that just sorta swirled around her. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was captivating. But I was too shy back then to say anything to her."

"You didn't talk to her?"

"No way! She was too classy. And what could I possibly say to impress her? No, I didn't have the nerve that first night."

"So when did you get it? The nerve, I mean?"

"I went back to the club at least a dozen times. Always sat alone at the same table and watched her sing. Of course, she recognized me as one of the regulars, but we hadn't really talked or anything. Basically, we just did a lot of smiling at each another."

"So when did you finally talk to her?"

"Well, one night, I was sitting in my regular spot and these three guys came in and sat down at a table behind me. They were drinking a lot, and being loud and rowdy. I overheard one of them making some pretty bawdy comments about Maggie—you know what I mean. Well, anyway, it made me furious. I just couldn't let him get away with it. So, I very coolly turned around and told the chump to knock off the talk because that was my wife up on the stage."

"You did? You never told me that."

"Well, I don't know what came over me. I've never been the confrontational sort. And when I thought about it later, I realized that I really could of gotten myself into a lot of trouble. Maybe he was her boyfriend or husband, or whatever. I didn't know him from Adam. I never stopped to consider that he might've known Mags."

"So what did this guy say?"

"He just apologized. I was quite a bit bigger than he was. Well, I was taller anyway. I was still just a skinny kid."

"And that was the end of it?"

"For the most part. They kept on laughing and drinking, but they stopped making comments about Maggie."

"And that was the night you finally talked to her?"

"Yeah. I waited until the band went on their last break. She was sitting up at the bar with their drummer, Frank. They were having coffee and talking. I stood at the end of the bar and watched them for a few minutes. I can still see the way she was holding her coffee cup. She had beautiful hands. Frank got off his barstool, gave her a kiss on the cheek and then went over and joined the other guys from the band at one of the tables. I knew I had to get my keester on that stool before someone else did. So I walked over and parked myself beside her."

"And?"

"Well, I wanted to be cool and hip and all. And I said, 'Well, I guess you owe me one.' And she looked up at me with her big brown eyes and said, 'Oh yeah, and how do you figure that?' And I said, 'Well, while you were singing, I defended your honor to a couple of drunks in the audience.' Then she smiled and said, 'Well, that was very nice of you. But I think it's you that owes me.' Well, of course I was completely shocked because I had no idea what she was talking about. So I said to her, 'And just how do you figure that?' And she said, 'You come in here and sit down at the same table every time, right?' And I said, 'Sure.' And believe me, Mr. H, I have no idea what she's talking about or where's she's going with this. So then she smiles and says, 'Haven't you ever wondered why that table is always available?' Well, I just looked at her with this dumbfounded expression. And then she smiled real sweet-like and said, _'Who do you think has been reserving it for you?'"_

Jonathan could not contain his smile. Watching the joy in Max's eyes as he told the story of the night he met Maggie touched a special place in his heart.

"But I know I've told you this story before, right?"

Jonathan shook his head, "Nope. You never told me. All I really know about Maggie was that she was a singer in a jazz club and that she was killed shortly after you two were married."

Max looked up at the ceiling; a huge sigh escaping from him.

"Well, I guess I'm just confused. I remember the story constantly. I guess I just don't say it out loud."

"It's a great story, Max. One of your best. No one tells a story quite like you."

"Yeah, well, you know that they say… _liars and thieves the storytellers be."_

"Not great company to keep, but you are one of the best."

"So what happened last night? I know you weren't out with the redhead, 'cause she's doing the same thing I am."

"Well, actually, I was with her."

"They got rules about that here. Trust me, I know. I invited Barbara to hang out with me after her shift ended at eleven but it's strictly against hospital policy."

"Barbara? A nurse?"

"She came on yesterday at three. Nice lady. Real nice."

"Max! Will you ever give it a rest? You're a patient, for crying out loud."

"Well, you ain't givin' it a rest."

"But I'm not a patient here."

"Yeah but the redhead is." Max chuckled, for the first time since the night of the aneurysm.

 _"Jennifer._ You can call her by her name, Max."

"You're pretty smitten with her, aren't you?"

"Yep."

"Well, you promised to tell me everything. Start talking."

Max listened intently as Jonathan told him the story of Jennifer. He started at the beginning and brought Max right up to the present, without leaving anything out. The elevator. Zane Grey. Lunch at Nino's. The picnic in the park. Dinner at Gavin's place. The scene at the Four Seasons. The phone messages. Her book of short stories. The night at the apartment. The dream. The letter. The dinner conversation with Stephen.

"You asked her father's permission?"

"Yep."

"So what did he say?"

"He was pleased, but thinks we should wait."

"Well, he is her father, you know." Max paused a moment. "So how long are you gonna wait?"

Jonathan smiled and glanced down at his hands once more.

"You've already asked her, haven't you?"

Jonathan just looked at him and smiled, shaking his head.

"I gotta hand it to you, you sure can pick 'em. She's a knock-out."

"That's just the icing on the cake though. She's so much more."

"She meets all the qualifications, then? You've been through the checklist?" He gave him a teasing smile.

"What checklist? I don't have a checklist." Jonathan shook his head.

"Yeah, Mr. H. You might not be aware of it but you definitely gotta checklist. Everybody's got one."

"For instance?"

"Well, for starters, they gotta be easy on the eyes. You like 'em pretty—but hey, who doesn't? And this lady's more than pretty. You find her attractive, and thus she meets the first item on the checklist. No problem."

"Am I that shallow that someone's physical appearance is the first item on the list?"

"You're not shallow. You're a man."

Jonathan laughed and shook his head. "Okay, what else?"

"She's gotta be smart. You're a smart guy. You want someone that's intellectually on the same playing field as you. Nothing wrong with that."

"Go on…"

"You have to be impressed with her sense of humor. Now that's a must. She's gotta laugh at your jokes, and she's gotta make you laugh too."

"Right on both counts." He nodded. "Okay, so what do we have? We got beautiful—check. We got smart—check. And we got wit—check." Jonathan counted on his fingers. "I guess she checks out."

"Okay, so she passed the checklist with flying colors. But now it's time for the question."

"The question?"

"Yeah. And this is the biggie. The answer to this is what opens or closes the betting window."

"I'm listening."

"Do you need her more than she needs you?"

Jonathan dropped his eyes again.

"Cause it can only be real if there's a chance she could break your heart."

Jonathan didn't know what to say. He could feel his chest tighten, knowing that at that very moment, somewhere within that very building, there existed a piece of paper that held the answer to that very question.

"Before I answer, can I ask you one more thing?"

Max closed his eyes and nodded.

"You bet everything at that window, didn't you?"

"I sure did."

"And if you had it to do all over again, would you still place that same bet?"

Max looked over at him. He studied Jonathan with the eyes of a father. "Someone once said _'Faith is like electricity. You can't see it, but you can see the light'_ That part of my life—Maggie's part—has been dark for a long time. But I had a chance to be in the light, to live in the light for just a little while. And it was bright and shining and made everything around me glow. Would I give back those few days of light? Not on your life."

"I know you loved Maggie very much. And you had to give her back. How'd you do it? I don't know that I could."

"You could do it, because some is better than none. But I pray that you'll never have to find out. When God turned out the light on me, I sat in the dark for a while. Then, he sent me this little flashlight." Max smiled.

"Yeah, well…a little punk for a flashlight."

"When He closes a door, He opens another betting window. God invented the racehorse, you know. Lots of races to run, Mr. H. Sometimes He let's you pick 'em and sometimes He picks 'em for you."

He reached for Max's hand once more, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Thanks, Max."

"So are you gonna tell me or what?"

"Tell you what?"

"You've never asked me about Maggie. Not like this, anyway."

"Jennifer's pathology report is back. Dr. Walsh will be bringing the results soon." Jonathan quickly checked his watch.

"Does she know?"

"No. She's sleeping. We were up really late. It was after five when we fell asleep."

"Then there's only one thing you can do."

"What's that?"

"Keep your hand on the light switch."

"Right. I got it." He nodded and smiled at Max. "Thanks."

"So you're getting married? That's great. Congratulations." Max spoke calmly and squeezed his hand. Jonathan was surprised by his reaction—by his lack of surprise, rather.

"So that's it? Just a simple _Congratulations_ and _that's great?"_

"You want me to turn a flip or something?"

"Well, I just thought your reaction would be…well, you know…a little more surprised, I guess."

"But I'm not surprised. I guess I could fake it if that'll make you feel better."

"You're really not surprised?"

"You said you haven't been playing cards, right?"

"Right."

"You really should have a look in the mirror."

"Why?"

"That's one weak poker face."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Good Morning." Stephen stood and kissed his the top of his daughter's head. Jennifer yawned and looked around.

"Hi Pa. When did you get here?"

"I haven't been here long. Twenty minutes or so. I didn't want to wake you, so I've just been reading the paper. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. Where's Jonathan?"

"No sign of him. Just his _graffiti_."

"What?"

Stephen reached for Jennifer's hand, lifting it up to his face.

"Unless my eyesight is failing me, I could swear the word 'reserved' is written here…on your ring finger."

Biting her lip, she pulled her hand from her father's and stared at her finger.

"Oh that…"

"Yes… _that._ "

"You don't miss a thing, do you?" She gave him a good-natured grin.

"Where you're concerned? No."

She continued to study the word on her finger.

"That is from Jonathan, is it not? Or are they giving out free tattoos as part of your stay?"

"No, Pa." She smiled up at him.

"So he's already asked you then?"

"He proposed to me last night." Jennifer was surprised by how easily the words left her mouth.

"Right after I left, I suppose?"

"No, he came back up here. It was after three, I think."

"He came back up to the hospital in the middle of the night to propose?"

"Well, I called him and he came back up."

"I knew that man couldn't wait. It's not in his nature."

"What do you mean _'you knew'_?"

"Well we had a little chat about the future—last night when we were down at the cafeteria."

"What?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"No, he didn't."

Stephen recalled all the details of his dinner conversation with Jonathan. Jennifer watched his eyes as he told the story.

"I told him I felt that maybe the timing was a little off with you and Max both here in the hospital. I know he respects my opinion but the man didn't get to where he is today by waiting on anything. He sees something he wants, and naturally he's going to do what he needs to do to close the deal _._ "

"So now I'm a _deal?_ " Her smile was mischievous.

"You know what I mean." He reached and took her hand in his once more, squeezing it tightly. "Is this what you truly want?"

She looked at her father's hand, wrapped firmly around her own.

"Pa, I've never wanted anything more in my entire life."

"You absolutely glow when you're with him. You know that, don't you?"

"It shows, huh?"

"Well, let's just say that despite his extreme interest in the California energy sector, he can plug you in should there be a statewide blackout."

"Oh Pa…"

Stephen leaned down and kissed Jennifer's forehead. Gently, he stroked her hair, looking deeply into her eyes. He could feel the tears building in his own.

"You know, I knew this day would come. I just didn't know how soon. You were just a baby—a beautiful, pink cherub. Then, a pig-tailed young girl, cart-wheeling your way into everyone's heart. Now, you're all grown up. You'll be resting your head on someone else's shoulder." Jennifer reached and wiped a tear from his cheek. "I'm so happy for you, Darling. You deserve all the happiness the world can give you."

"Thank you, Pa. I love you so much." Jennifer wrapped her arms around her father's neck and hugged him.

"You're going to give your mother a run for her money." He whispered in her ear.

She pulled away and looked up at him. "I am?"

He reached and returned the favor, gently brushing a tear from her cheek. "Because she was the most beautiful bride and you're just like her."

"She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

"I still remember the way she looked the first time I saw her through the window of that little shop. Breathtaking. That's the only word I can think of to describe her. She was breathtaking."

"Tell me the story again."

"Oh Darling, you've heard it a million times."

"But it's my favorite." She patted the empty spot on the bed where Jonathan had spent the night. "I haven't officially taken up residence on that new shoulder. Come lay down with me and tell me."

"Jennifer…"

"Please, Pa?"

"Oh, alright." Stephen stretched out beside his daughter, allowing one leg to dangle off the side of the bed. Jennifer rested her head on her father's shoulder, smiling.

"I'm ready."

"Well, the day I saw your mother she was—"

"Wait! That's not the way it starts. _'The streets of Paris were wet with rain…'_ remember?"

"You don't miss a thing, do you?" He patted her arm.

"Where you're concerned? No."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan stopped abruptly when he entered Jennifer's room.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting?"

"We were just talking." She motioned for him to come in.

"Good morning, Stephen."

"Good morning. Just keeping your spot warm." He stood and extended his hand to Jonathan, shaking it firmly.

"I tried to reach you earlier, but I guess you'd already left the suite. That was just after eight o'clock."

"I must have just missed you. Sorry."

"Has Dr. Walsh been in yet?"

"No."

"That's why I called you." He looked back at Stephen. "He came in here earlier. The lab called and the report is ready. He said he'd be back in an hour or so barring any emergencies." He sat down on the bed and laced his fingers in Jennifer's. She sighed heavily and squeezed his hand.

"And what time was this?" Stephen asked, returning to his chair.

"Eight. He said he'd go over the results and then he had other patients to see." He turned his face back to Jennifer and smiled. "Everything's going to be alright. I promise."

"I know. I can do this." She smiled and nodded.

"Of course you can. We're here and we love you and that's all that matters." Stephen smiled sweetly at his daughter.

Jennifer took a deep breath and smiled. "Okay, change of subject. Did you have breakfast yet?" She looked at Jonathan.

"No, I've been with Max."

"I thought perhaps you were out picking up some paper clips or staples."

He threw a confused look at Stephen then glanced at Jennifer. She shook her head and laughed.

"I'm sorry?" Jonathan replied, puzzled.

"You know. Your romantic penchant for office supplies." He winked and picked up the marker from the bedside table, waving it playfully in the air.

"Pa!" Jennifer laughed out loud. "Stop."

"Congratulations! You've got one helluva girl." He stood and extended his hand.

"I certainly do. Thank you, sir." Jonathan nodded and returned the handshake.

"Now I only had a quick cup of coffee at the hotel, so I'm going down to grab a muffin. Can I bring you anything?"

"No sir, I'm fine."

"Well, I won't be gone long. I don't want to miss Dr. Walsh." He made his exit, leaving them alone.

Jonathan noticed the breakfast tray beside the bed.

"You didn't eat much."

"They brought the tray in just a few minutes before you got here. I'm not that hungry. Help yourself."

"I'm not really that hungry either."

Silence fell on the room and their eyes held a loving conversation.

"Did you tell Max?"

"I didn't have to. He guessed. How'd your father react?"

"Noticed the _insurance policy_ right off the bat. I was still asleep when he got here."

"Some people really know how to take the fun out of a surprise, don't they?"

"Well I don't think we're very good at keeping secrets." She smiled.

"Max said it was written all over my face."

"My father said I was glowing."

"That's because you're radiant." He leaned and rested his forehead against hers.

"That's because I love you."

Jonathan reached for her hand, kissing the word on her ring finger.

"You know we've got to do something about this." He rubbed his thumb against the word.

"I'm in no rush. I like it. _This_ is the tattoo I've always wanted."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Knock, knock…" Dr. Walsh called out as he entered Jennifer's room. Jonathan and Stephen stood up at once.

"Please sit down." He motioned for the two men to return to their seats. Jonathan took his place beside Jennifer, taking her hand in his. He quickly scanned Dr. Walsh's eyes. _Talk about your poker face_.

"I understand you had an overnight guest. You know that's against hospital policy, right?" His tone was firm and direct.

"Yes, well…about that…" Jennifer bit her lip. Dr. Walsh smiled and raised his hand.

"It's okay. I'm willing to make a few exceptions for some of my really special patients. Especially those patients who are cancer free." He smiled warmly at Jennifer.

"Really?" She smiled as tears instantly filled her eyes.

"Not a cancer cell one. You're completely clean." Dr. Walsh patted Jennifer's leg.

"You're sure?" Jonathan asked.

"One hundred percent benign."

Jonathan could not contain his emotions and neither could Stephen. The two men huddle around her and the three of them shared a quite moment.

"I don't know what to say. Thank you just isn't enough." Jennifer smiled through her tears at Dr. Walsh.

"This is by far the best part of my job so no thanks are necessary. But now that we're over that hurdle, the real training begins—physical therapy. And I expect nothing short of your best effort from here on out."

"That I can do."

"And that means no more all night parties."

"I understand." She nodded.

"I was speaking to Mr. Hart."

"Of course. I understand." Jonathan nodded.

"Good." He smiled and shook hands with Jonathan and Stephen before walking toward the door. "I have a hospital function to attend this evening, so I probably won't see you until tomorrow. I've left word for you to take a walk if you feel up to it. But I'd like for you to get as much rest as possible. You had a long night and your body knows it."

"I'll see that she does just that." Jonathan offered.

"I won't hold my breath." Dr. Walsh winked as the door closed behind him.

XXXXXXXXXX

The apartment was quiet as he entered in total darkness. He'd kept his promise to Dr. Walsh, leaving the hospital at a reasonable hour. The excitement of the late night proposal wore off early and Jennifer spent the day sleeping through her pain. She'd been able to make a short trip—just a few steps out in the hall. But it was progress and Jonathan was thankful. He noticed the flashing light immediately as he dropped his keys beside the phone. There was only one message…from Archer. Checking his watch, he knew he'd still be awake. Jonathan picked up the receiver and dialed.

"Did I wake you?"

"Naw. I was up."

"Diane asleep?"

"Not anymore."

"Sorry."

"I'm giving you a hard time. How'd it go?"

"Better than I thought. I'm sorry I haven't called you back."

"You're busy. We understand." Archer paused, unsure of Jonathan's tone. It didn't indicate anything aside from fatigue. "Did you find out?"

"If she has cancer you mean?"

"Yeah…"

"No, she's clean." Jonathan sighed heavily as he flopped down on the sofa.

"Well that's good news."

"God, I was so scared. The doctor came in her room without an ounce of expression. I thought that maybe…" He paused, reflecting on the dark images that passed through his mind in the surgical waiting area.

"But she's going to be okay, right?"

"She's going to be fine."

A pregnant pause followed before Archer spoke again.

"You really care about her, don't you?"

"I wouldn't have asked her to marry me if I didn't."

"You did what?" Archer couldn't hide the shock in his voice.

"I asked her. Last night. At three a.m. No ring, but I made sure to get a little something on her finger before I left."

"And she accepted?"

"I'm officially off the market."

"Jonathan, have you really thought this through?" He couldn't hide the concern in his voice.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?""

"For years I've listened to you and Diane preach how it was time to stop living like a frat boy and get serious. And when I finally do, I'm met with doubt."

"C'mon, Johnny Boy…"

"Don't give me any bullshit, Arch. You said it all with that comment at the Four Seasons." Jonathan spoke with an air of annoyance.

"Now hold up. You didn't tell me that she was in a wheelchair. And when we met her, we were genuinely surprised. And I told you so. Was I passing judgment on her? Hell no! I don't think it's me you're trying to convince here. Maybe you're trying to convince yourself." His statement was direct. Jonathan sat silent on his end of the line. Aside from Max, Archer was his closest friend. They'd never had a cross word in all the years they'd known each other. They weren't many people in the world that Jonathan respected or trusted more.

"What if I said you're making a big mistake?" Archer added.

"Then I'd tell you to look the other way."

"But you don't even know her."

"I know how I feel when I'm with her. And I know how I feel when I'm not with her."

"Just back up a minute, okay? You met her what? A couple of weeks ago? You flirted a few times, had lunch together, flirted some more. You didn't even call her after she flew back home. Then she sends you some book and suddenly you're registering for fine china? It doesn't add up, Mr. H. Maybe with someone else, but not with you."

Again Jonathan was quiet. Archer Martin had a point. His actions were completely out of character. Jonathan Hart was a handsome wealthy man with a short attention span. And for years he'd made no apologies for it. But he'd already played all the facts his friend outlined over in his mind—dozens of times. And each time, he came up with the same answer.

"I'm in love with her, Arch. For the first time in my life I now understand what that means."

"What about Max?" Archer asked after a moment of silence.

"What about him?"

"Well, he's lying up there trying to regain a big part of himself."

"I cannot believe we're having this conversation! Honestly. Is Diane listening to all this?"

"No. I'm downstairs in the study."

"I don't get you."

"I just want you to be careful. That's all. If I didn't give a shit, I wouldn't say a word."

"Well, there's just one word you need to say to me."

"And what's that?"

"Congratulations."

"I'll think about it." He replied after a lengthy pause.

Jonathan smiled, knowing that his old friend was doing the same.

"Say it or you'll find a pink slip on your desk first thing."

"Is that a threat, Old Man?"

"It's a promise."

"I'm hanging up now. I'll talk to you in the morning."

"No you won't. You'll have Diane call me first thing tomorrow to take my temperature."

"Why do you think I keep her on retainer?"

They ended the call and Jonathan found himself back behind the bar. He searched the bottles, but nothing appealed to him. Grabbing a bottle of water from the small 'fridge, he made a quick trip to his bedroom. He returned a moment later and resumed his place on the sofa, a small silver frame in hand. In his wallet, he located the photo and stared at it with a smile. He dialed the number to the hospital and waited to hear her voice.

"Room two-fourteen." He requested.

"Patient's name?" A pleasant voice asked.

"Jennifer Edwards Hart."

"One moment sir. You said Jennifer Edwards?"

"Yes."

"I'll connect you."

Jonathan smiled, balancing the receiver between his shoulder and his ear. Carefully, he slipped the picture into the frame.

"Hello?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Jennifer Hart."

"This is Jennifer Hart. Well, it's almost Jennifer Hart."

"God, that sounds so good."

"It sure does."

"You weren't asleep were you?"

"No. And Dr. Walsh was right. You can't let me rest, can you?"

"I'm trying but you're just so irresistible." He placed the frame on the coffee table in front of him. "I just called to let you know that the empty spot on my nightstand has been filled."

"You found the perfect alarm clock?"

"No, I found the perfect woman. And I have a framed photo to prove it."

"My father must really think a lot of you to give you that photo. He's carried it around for ages. It doesn't even look like me. It's at least twenty years old."

"It's beautiful and I'm keeping it." Lying down, he turned to face the photo. "Now, there's one other empty spot in my bedroom that needs some work."

"The yummy bed?"

"Not very yummy without you."

"My bed seems to be missing the yummy factor that it had last night."

"Jennifer, listen, there's something I want to tell you."

"Okay." She detected a change in his tone.

"When I woke up this morning, you know the first thing I thought of?"

"No."

"I thought of us—the life that we're starting together."

"Oh Jonathan, that's very sweet."

"That's not what I mean. I mean when I woke up this morning I didn't think about my parents."

Jennifer closed her eyes. "I don't know whether that's good or bad?"

"For as long as I can remember, I wake up everyday with the same thought process— _I'm awake, the world is still spinning, I have no real family._ I'm not depressed or anything. That's just what goes through my mind. Then, I get up and go about my day and never really think about it again, until I go to bed. But last night, I feel asleep thinking only of us and I woke up the same way." He paused and took a breath. "It's the best feeling in the world. It was like going to bed on Christmas Eve and dreaming of all those gifts that are waiting, and then waking up and a second later getting to tear into them." He paused again, sighing.

Jennifer's heart beat fast. The sincerity in his words brought tears to her eyes.

"All those things that I miss most when I was a kid—those are the thing you are to me. You are my Christmas morning, my Easter egg hunt, my Trick-or-Treat bag of candy…all wrapped up inside a Valentine. And from here on I know that when I wake up, I'll be thinking _I'm awake, the world is still spinning, and I am so blessed to have this woman lying beside me."_

Once again, Jennifer's experience as a writer left her wanting. She had no words. He'd done it again. He'd found a way to touch another place inside her. A place she didn't know existed. He'd painted a picture for her with his words of honesty—a beautiful painting to fill the bare wall of her innermost room.

"Jonathan, I don't know what to say."

"Just say you love me."

 **TBC**

 **#ilovereviews**


	11. Chapter 11

"Mr. H, that's the door. You want me to get it?"

"Hang on. I'll be right there." Jonathan called from his bedroom. Within a minute, he rounded the corner, securing his watch on his wrist. He continued his brisk pace to the door of his apartment. He turned the knob and opened it with a smile.

"Barbara! Please come in." Jonathan took the overnight bag from her hand and stepped back.

"Thank you. How's the patient today?"

"He's okay but I know he'll be even better now that you're here."

"You're late." Max hollered from the living room.

"Hiya, Max. How you doin' today?"

"My body is great. It's my pride that hurts."

"You're not still upset about yesterday are you?"

"Well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't."

"Don't worry…" She reached in her purse and pulled out a deck of cards, tossing it onto the coffee table. "I'll give you another chance to try and redeem yourself."

"If you two will excuse me, I need to finish getting ready." Jonathan motioned back toward his bedroom.

"Sure thing." Max smiled.

Jonathan turned and made his way back down the hall. Closing the door to his room, he thought a moment and examined the items laid out across his bed. Running through his mental checklist, it seemed he had everything. He looked across to the small velvet box sitting quietly beside Jennifer's photo. From his closet, he retrieved a small suitcase and began packing. Checking his watch, he knew he'd have to get going. He still needed to stop by the suite and pick up Jennifer's things from Stephen. He returned once more to the closet for the black garment bag. He quickly unzipped the front and examined his tuxedo. Though he hadn't worn it in months, it was still as fresh as the day Marge had returned it. He zipped it safely back in the bag. He crossed the room and picked up the box. For the millionth time that day, he carefully opened it. He smiled as he looked at the platinum promise that would occupy a place on her delicate finger. _All that worry,_ he remembered. Jennifer was right. He'd followed his instincts and found the perfect ring. He flipped the box shut and slipped it inside his jacket for safe-keeping. Turning, he caught his reflection in the mirror. _Time for the most serious of poker faces._

Back in the living room, he collected his keys from the wooden bowl. He checked his wallet for the business card, smiling when he caught sight of the only photo he'd ever carried with him. He gave the happy faces in the picture a grin.

"Now I've left the number of where we'll be just in case you need me." He announced.

"You're going away for two nights. I'm a big boy now. I'll be fine. And besides, have you ever seen a better lookin' baby-sitter in your life?" Max winked at Barbara.

"No, I don't believe I have." Jonathan shook his head.

"If you think your sweet talk's gonna have any bearing on the card game, you're sadly mistaken." She smiled back at Max.

"Now if Jennifer happens to call, tell her that I just left and that I'm running a little late, but that I'll be there to pick her up soon, okay?"

"I got it. Anything else?"

"Wish me luck."

"What do you need luck for? You already got the girl. This is just a formality."

"I just want everything to be perfect."

"It will be. Stop worrying."

"You two have a wonderful time, alright." Barbara added.

"And you're sure you don't mind driving him to therapy tomorrow? I could send a car for you."

"No, that won't be necessary. I've got my car downstairs, and the way he's moving around with that walker now he's practically a speed demon. We'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

"Just go!" Max and Barbara yelled in unison.

"Right…okay."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jonathan, come in, come in…" Stephen ushered him inside the suite. "I've got everything ready but I have to tell you that I think we're really taking a chance here."

"You think so?"

"I have yet to meet a woman who thinks a man can pack for her."

"Well, it's just for a couple of nights. I think we'll be alright."

"Everything's just over here on the bed."

"I can't thank you enough."

"I know this is a special night for you both. And Jennifer has no idea."

"Good. She tells me all the time I can't keep a secret."

"So do I get a peek? Or, if you'd like to wait and let her show me, I totally understand."

"Of course." Jonathan reached into his pocket and produced the black velvet box. He handed it to his future father-in-law with a smile.

"Jonathan, it's magnificent. She's going to love it."

"I hope so."

"If she was that crazy over a pen I don't think you have anything to worry about." He handed the box back.

Jonathan chuckled, slipping the ring back inside his pocket. "You've got a point."

"Listen, before you take off there's something I'd like to say. Call me a sentimental old sap if you must, but I really admire the decision you and Jennifer made to stay in separate residences these last eight weeks. I've been a young man in love, and I know the difficulty surrounding a situation like this."

"Well, we talked about it and felt that it would be the best thing for Max. She was adamant that with the amount of change that's happened in his life, he needed to return back home and have things be just as they were before the aneurysm. It was really her doing. Believe me, I did my share of begging."

"I know it hasn't been easy for either of you. And you've been back and forth, running yourself ragged between your office and the hospital."

"But I haven't done it alone. There have been lots of helpers behind the scenes. I'm just glad you were able to come back into town and be here while we make it _official."_

"I wouldn't miss this for the world. I must admit that I was a tad nervous about going back home and leaving Jennifer here. But knowing she was with you put my mind at ease _."_

"Well, I'm glad you approve. Now I guess I better get moving. Jennifer's expecting me." He collected her things and walked to the door. "Thanks again for all your help. I couldn't have pulled this off without you."

"Oh, wait just a minute. I almost forgot." Stephen walked over to the desk. He returned with an oversized manila envelope. "This is for Jennifer." He took the suitcase from Jonathan and slipped the envelope inside.

"What's that?"

"Just something she might want. Now, would you like some help out to Ava?"

"Hey! You remembered her name." Jonathan said, surprised.

"I never forgot." He winked.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan pressed the button for the elevator again and waited. It seemed to be taking forever. The lobby was busy and numerous bodies milled around. He thought about the number of times he'd waited in that very spot over the last however many weeks. Finally, the doors opened and he met her eyes. She smiled at him.

"Oh I'm sorry. Are you going up or down?"

"That depends. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to meet my future husband."

"So you're taken then, huh Red?"

"Yes." She stepped out of the elevator and into his arms.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you." She kissed him on the cheek.

"So how was graduation?" He draped his arm around her shoulder, guiding her through the main doors of the hospital. "I'm sorry that I couldn't be here with you on your last day of therapy but I just couldn't get out of that meeting."

"Oh that's alright."

"They didn't work you too hard, did they?"

"Not at all. We just did some stress tests and then I talked with Dr. Prescott and Dr. Zimmer for a while. They said to tell you hello."

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling good." He opened the car door for her. "Careful now."

"Jonathan, I'm fine. You don't have to baby me."

"Yes I do. It's what I live for." He gave her a grin and closed the door.

Jennifer flipped the sun visor down, checking her reflection in the mirror.

"Relax. That image is perfect. There's no way you can possibly improve it." He said, clicking his seatbelt in place.

"Jonathan, I don't understand why we have to go and taste wines. They have wine in Maryland, you know."

"I know. But the sommelier at Christoff's said these wines are very exclusive and that distribution is limited. If you don't like it, then we'll go with something that you like that's available in Maryland." He gave her a smile.

"Well, it's just that. Shipping rare bottles of wine for one night seems a little excessive."

"This _one night_ happens to be the most important night of our lives so I plan to spare no expense."

"So I've been told." She rolled her eyes.

"What's with the eye roll?"

"Nothing." She sighed.

"Tell me."

"You know, as much as you complained initially about your involvement with planning this little shindig, you've sure changed your tune."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're _worse_ than any bride." She couldn't contain her smile.

"What?" Jonathan laughed.

"What began with ' _Just a simple ceremony is all I need, Jennifer'_ has turned into _'You think your father would mind if the Navy did a fly over after we exchange vows?'"_

"Oh c'mon. I'm not that bad…"

"Yes you are." She nodded firmly.

Jonathan sat quietly for a moment.

"It was just gonna be the one jet, that's all."

"Now who's incorrigible?"

"Okay, you right. I have gotten a little crazy with the whole thing."

"A little?"

"Alright, a lot. But can I help it if I'm excited? Would you rather that I was completely disinterested, leaving every detail up to you?"

She bit her lip. "Well, no…"

"Then I say we make a deal."

"You and your deals." She shook her head.

"You humor me and I spoil you. Sound fair?"

"No, but it sounds like what you're going to do regardless." She sighed again. "I give up. I can't win."

Jonathan smiled. "I told Max you were smart."

"And Max told me you were stubborn." She gave him a wink.

They spent the time in traffic discussing the plans for their wedding. The simple ceremony had now become an outdoor event of three hundred guests at Jennifer's childhood home. It was Stephen's idea that they be married in Suzanne's garden and Jennifer fell in love with it. A tense moment arose when Jonathan announced that he planned to pay for the entire affair. Playing referee, Jennifer was forced to step in and mediate. Stephen was none to pleased—pointing out that it was tradition for the bride's family to pick up the tab. But after several days of intense negotiations, the two gentlemen worked out their differences and agreed on a game plan. Jennifer was left shaking her head, feeling like a prize at a carnival.

"Jonathan, I thought you told me Christoff's was in Beverly Hills."

"It is." He kept his eyes forward.

She eyed the airport signs. "Then why are we going to the airport?"

"Because in order to find the right wine, you have to travel to the source.

"Jonathan Hart, we're not…"

"The plane is ready and we'll be in Napa in no time." He reached and gave her hand a squeeze.

XXXXXXXXXX

A car was waiting for them when they touched down at Napa Valley Airport. Their belongings were transferred and they were on the road in minutes. Jennifer marveled at the scenery as they made their way through the picturesque hills of the wine country.

"You know, I was wrong."

"About what?" He asked.

"You can keep a secret."

"Well, let's just consider this your graduation present." He held her hand on top of his thigh, gently rubbing it with his thumb. "You've worked really hard in the time since your surgery and I couldn't be more proud of you."

"So you weren't in a meeting then?"

"Nope. I had to fib a little to get all this ready."

"And Stephen Edwards is an accessory in this crime?"

"We're guilty. In fact, he did your packing."

"I don't stand a chance against the two of you, do I?" She cocked her head to one side.

"Nope."

"So are we really going to taste wines or was that just a ruse to throw me off?"

"This is Napa. Of course we'll be tasting wines."

"No, I mean for the wedding."

"Well, that's another little crime your father and I have committed."

"You two have already selected the wine, haven't you?"

"Chateau Margaux." He smiled.

"Chateau Margaux?!" She raised her voice.

"We both agreed hands down on the Chateau Margaux for the reception. I hope that's alright?"

"All that incessant talk of _nothing but the finest California wines_ and you're going French?"

"Think of it as an homage to the beautiful Suzanne Edwards." He winked.

" _The_ Chateau Margaux?" She looked at him again. "At four hundred dollars a bottle, you both _agreed_ that's the perfect compliment to dinner?"

"What can I say? We have good taste." Another wink came her way.

"I know what I say. Dealing with the two of you is like planning a wedding with Butch and Sundance."

They twisted and turned their way until they arrived at their destination in the heart of Napa. The inn, the grounds—everything took her breath away. She reached for the door handle and stepped out of the car. Looking around, she drank in the beauty that surrounded her.

"Oh my! This is absolutely breathtaking. What an amazing view!"

"It sure is." Jonathan opened the trunk.

"How'd you find this place?"

"A buddy of mine told me about it."

"So you've never been here before?"

"Never."

A valet greeted them. Jonathan handed him the keys, along with a folded bill.

"It's Hart. Jonathan Hart."

"Yes, sir. I'll have your things sent up to your room immediately."

"Thank you." He turned back to Jennifer. "Shall we take a little walk?"

"I'd love to." She reached and linked her arm through his. They strolled around the grounds, taking in everything around them. Jonathan smiled as she pointed out the different plants and flowers growing in the gardens surrounding the inn. Something as simple as a walk at dusk suddenly took on an air of magic when she was with him. Just to be able to walk with her was a blessing that he would never take for granted. He wouldn't have to push her in a wheelchair ever again. With his hand on the small of her back, he gently guided her into the lobby. The beauty she'd observed outside was matched by what she found inside.

"Oh Jonathan, this is lovely." She observed the art and furnishings.

"Let's get checked in." He gave her back a pat and she followed him across to the reception counter.

"Good evening." The young man behind the counter smiled.

"Good evening. It's Hart."

"Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Hart. We have your suite ready."

He held out a pen. Jonathan signed his name on the registration card and reached in his back pocket. He pulled a credit card from inside his wallet and a photograph fell to the floor. He bent down to retrieve it, but Jennifer beat him to it. She silently examined it with a curious look. The man in the photo looked so much like Jonathan. She quickly handed it back to him without comment. After a moment, the credit card was returned and Jonathan's wallet found its way back into his pocket.

"Here you are, sir." He handed him a key.

"Thank you."

"It's just up these stairs." The hotel attendant motioned.

"Thanks."

"And may I offer my congratulations to you both. Enjoy your honeymoon stay."

"We will." Jonathan turned and winked at Jennifer.

Halfway up the stairs, Jennifer caught him by the lapel of his jacket.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hart are on their honeymoon stay?"

"Well, they say practice makes perfect."

They continued up the stairs and found their suite at the end of the hall. He slipped the key in the door and followed her in. Their bags had been delivered and a bottle of champagne sat waiting inside a silver bucket.

"Look at this room! And just look at this bed!"

"It's pretty amazing."

"It certainly is." She lightly ran her hand along the carved post of the bed.

"The detail…all these intricate little carvings…"

"I understand it has quite a story behind it."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Rumor has it that this is the very bed where Napoleon and his mistress spent their many nights together."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope."

"Josephine was his mistress? I thought she was his wife."

"She was his wife. Hence the scandal." He winked.

"How do you know all this?" She gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm very thorough."

"That's some story."

"Not nearly as exciting as the chapter that we'll be writing in it tonight." He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him and closed her eyes. He nudged her head to the side and found the special spot on her neck.

"Who says we have to wait until tonight?" She turned to face him. Finding his lips, she kissed him deeply, feeling the warmth of his breath inside her.

"Now wait," He pulled away from her. "I've been a sexual camel going day after day without you but we have _all night._ And I want to savor every moment. There's no Max, no Stephen, no hospital…no rush."

"You're right…" She sighed. "Whose idea was it again to wait until I finished my therapy?"

"Hey now, we agreed together. Off-limits until we got the all-clear from the doctors. And tonight's the night so let's make it really special." He kissed her tenderly.

"You know something? You could sell water to fish."

Jonathan laughed. "How 'bout a drink? We are in the land of vino."

"As long as it's wine. If I get anywhere near the champagne, it'll be lights out."

"We'll save that for later."

Jonathan called down for a bottle of their best red while Jennifer surveyed the contents of her suitcase. She was surprised to find a large envelope placed neatly on top of her clothes. Suddenly a snippet of their conversation en route to airport trickled back into her mind. _We're guilty. In fact, he did your packing._

She glanced back at Jonathan, then eyed the envelope once more. Quietly, she closed the suitcase.

"Are they sending some up?" She asked as he hung up the phone.

"You know what? They have an extensive cellar here. Would you mind if I went down and had a look?"

"Of course not. I'll unpack and change. I assume we're going out for dinner."

"We have a reservation at seven-thirty. I'll be back with something tasty then I'll change and we can go.

"You did plan ahead. Reservations and everything."

"I'll be right back." He blew her a kiss.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Jennifer quickly retrieved the envelope from her suitcase. Sitting down, she carefully reached inside and pulled out yet another envelope. Attached to the front she found a note from her father.

 _Darling,_

 _I'm sorry this has taken longer than expected. But you know how these things work. It cost me a couple of strokes on the golf course but it was worth it. I know that Jonathan has gone to great lengths to plan a special weekend away in celebration of the end of your therapy. You never expressed how and when you wished to share this with him, but in case you decide that tonight is that night, I wanted you to have it. I hope I did the right thing by sending it. If not, I apologize._

 _All My Love,  
Pa _

Jennifer folded the paper several times, until it was nothing more than a tiny square. Staring at the envelope beside her, she traced her lips with the folded note in her hand. She reached for her purse and slipped it inside an inner pocket. Turning back to the envelopes, she replaced the smaller one inside the larger and returned it to the bottom of her suitcase, out of sight. Her heart was beating fast, as she recalled Jonathan's words from weeks before...

" _I'm awake, the world is still spinning, and I am so blessed to have this woman lying beside me."_

XXXXXXXXXXX

Friday night and the club was crowded. He kept a firm grip on her hand as he led her back to the dance floor. The lights were low and the jazz band was playing all his favorites. Or maybe it just seemed that way because he was here with her. Jonathan slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Their bodies moved together as the music swirled around them. Jennifer closed her eyes. The bottle of wine they'd shared at dinner mixed with the sounds of the saxophone, allowing her body to melt against his. Slowly, he moved his hand up her back until he could feel the soft layers of her hair in his fingers. He'd never known anything to feel more incredible. Holding the woman he loved on a dark dance floor and knowing that every man in the room was filled with envy. Glancing up at the young, brown-eyed woman at the microphone, he smiled and thought of Max. Resting his head against hers, he closed his eyes and remembered the way she'd felt in his arms the night he held her on a plaid blanket under the stars—the night he fell.

"I wrote a story about something like this…" She whispered.

"I'm writing one right now." He inhaled the sweet scent of her hair.

"I bet mine's better than yours." She nibbled on his earlobe.

"Jennifer…" Jonathan knew he was losing himself.

"Now, listen." She continued her seductive whisper, allowing her lips to brush against his ear. "I've been a good little girl. I got all dressed up, let you take me out to dinner, let you show me off on the dance floor."

"There's not a man in this room that isn't thinking about what he'd like to do to you." His husky tone tickled her ear.

"There's only one man in this room I want." She kissed his neck, just above his collar.

He pulled away and looked into her eyes. The music swelled and couples continued to dance around them as they stood completely still—the only people in the room. All the emotions of the last few weeks played out like the love song that moved the dancers around them. Silently, he turned and led her off the dance floor. They walked to the door and out to the street, without a word between them. The valet approached them, but Jonathan waved him off.

"Just the keys, Chief. We'll get it."

The young man tossed Jonathan the keys to their rental car and he caught them with one hand. He quickly handed the valet a tip and they continued in silence down the sidewalk. She walked beside him; their fingers laced tightly together. Though her pace was rhythmic and steady, inside she was running. By the time they made it to the car, she was someone else—the same woman from her novel. The woman balancing in euphoria on a cliff. He reached and opened her door, but she pushed it closed. Turning to him, she reached and ran her fingers through his hair. Her hands traveled down his neck and chest stopping to rest on his waist. She pulled him against her. Leaning forward, she found his mouth—and she couldn't hold back. The wait had been too long and anticipation had given way to surrender. One kiss turned to many and they lost themselves under a streetlamp in a deserted parking lot.

"Jennifer?" He whispered in between kisses.

"Yes?" She answered, breathless.

"We have two choices…"

"I'm listening…"

"We can stay here and be arrested…"

"Or?"

"Or we can stop right this second and go back to the inn."

She pulled away and smiled at him.

"I've never been arrested, remember?" She reached for his bowtie, giving it a tug. It fell in black wrinkles around his neck.

"Jennifer…" He reached up and grabbed her arm.

"And you've never been mugged, remember?" She wriggled her arm free, unbuttoning the collar of his tuxedo shirt.

"Jennifer…"

"I'm just following the list." She went to work on the second button.

"The list?" He caught and held both her wrists.

"I'm starting something you have to finish." She smiled and bit her lip.

He looked down, shaking his head. When he met her eyes again, he winked.

"Let's go." He reached for the door and held it open for her.

The trip back to the inn was quiet. Jennifer rested her hand on his thigh and her head on his shoulder. Jonathan's mind jumped ahead as he casually slipped his hand inside his tuxedo jacket. Feeling the velvet box still safely inside his pocket, he relaxed. He reached down, placing his hand on top of hers. Wrapping his fingers around hers, he held her hand with a gentle touch.

"I love you, Jennifer."

"I love you, too."

The inn was quiet when they arrived. Jonathan nodded at the young man behind the desk as he and Jennifer made their way up the staircase. Once at the top, Jennifer stopped, grabbing hold of the rail.

"What wrong?"

"I just need to stop for a minute?"

"Is it your back? Your legs?"

"No, it's the wine. I'm okay now." She grabbed onto his arm and he led her down the hall to their suite. He pulled the key from his pocket and opened the door.

"Oh my…" Jennifer stopped again, stunned. The floor of the suite was covered in rose petals. The bed was turned down and a blanket of petals covered it as well.

"Surprise." He whispered in his husky tone.

"When did you have time to do this?"

"They think we're newlyweds. Just play along."

"I hope you're saving something for the actual wedding night. I know you'd hate to peak early." She gave him a mischievous grin.

"I think you're forgetting our deal. The wedding night is _your_ responsibility."

"Oh right. Guess I should take some notes, huh?"

"Good idea."

"You don't happen to have a Sharpie marker, do you? I need to write this down."

"Get in here!" He gently pulled her inside and closed the door, locking it behind them. "Now then, about that list…" He lifted her hair up, covering the back of her neck with kisses. "God, you look incredible in this dress. You turned every head tonight."

"Jonathan," She laughed. "that tickles."

He turned her around to face him. "Question. Who was that woman?"

"What woman?"

"The woman that started undressing me in the parking lot."

"You liked her, huh?"

"Umm…" He returned to her neck. "She was nice. Naughty, but nice." His kisses made a trail down her neck. Cupping her breasts in his hands, he kissed them through layers of glossy black silk.

"Jonathan," The words in her head swam in a sea of red wine. "I've got to get out of this dress."

"You certainly do…"

"No really, give me five minutes." She pulled away with a smile.

"Alright." He released her, returning her smile.

Jennifer turned and walked into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door. Jonathan went straight to his suitcase. Reaching inside, he found the small votive candle that lit the way their first night together. They hadn't made love since that night before her surgery. As much as he'd wanted her, he loved her too much to rush during her recovery. And as difficult as it had been, the fact that they hadn't would make this night even sweeter. He lit the candle, then pulled the velvet box from his pocket. He studied its contents once more, then stood and placed it in his pants pocket. Removing his jacket and tie, he tossed them on the chair. He surveyed the suite again. The door to the bathroom opened and Jennifer stepped back into the room.

"God, you look beautiful in my pajamas, you know that?"

"I left the bottoms in there for you."

"I'll just be a minute." He said, stopping for a quick kiss on his way.

Jennifer looked once more around the suite. Right away, she noticed the candle beside the bed. _Our candle._ She smiled and carefully removed the rose petals from the bed, dropping them on the wood floor with the others. Glancing at the silver bucket, she saw that he hadn't bothered with the champagne. She crawled into bed and waited for him, resting her head on his pillow. Jonathan opened the door and joined her again. Seeing his smile instantly produced one on her lips.

"Petals on the bed. Pretty, but not practical."

"I thought that's how you'd see it."

"Move over, Red." He said with a wink. He slid in beside her, his heart racing. They lay facing each other, letting their smiles talk.

"We've been waiting for this moment for a long time, haven't we?" Her voice was warm and calm as he reached and rubbed her shoulder. "Are you feeling okay? Your back's okay?"

"Jonathan, I'm fine…really."

"I'm just making sure."

She ran her finger along the chain that lay against his chest.

"This has been a perfect day. Thank you. You really surprised me—the trip here, dinner in the private dining room, dancing…everything."

"Well, there is one more _little_ surprise."

"There is?"

"Yep. But you have to close your eyes first, alright?"

Jennifer gave him a curious look. "Okay." She closed her eyes for him.

"Wait right here." Jonathan got back out of bed and returned to the bathroom. Within seconds he was back.

"Okay, you can open your eyes."

There on the pillow lay a small, rectangular box. She immediately recognized the wrapping by its distinct black and white stripes.

"What's this?"

"I don't know. You better open it and find out."

Jennifer's heart did a little flip as she removed the wrapping. She opened the box within and pulled out the most incredible diamond bracelet.

"Oh Jonathan! This is gorgeous!" She laid it across her wrist.

"You like it?"

"Like it?" I love it! It's beautiful."

"You're sure you like it? 'Cause if you want, we can trade it in for one of these." He lifted her left hand and slipped the ring on her finger.

"Oh Jonathan…" Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at the diamond on her hand.

"I thought your pinky ring was looking pretty lonely." He held her hand up. "Yeah, I guess it's okay."

"Okay—it's absolutely exquisite. It's exactly what I would have picked out myself."

"It looks beautiful on you. I told the jeweler that my future wife was perfect, precious, and priceless. He said he had a ring matching that very description."

"It's beautiful and I love it." She placed her hand on his cheek, kissing him tenderly. "And I love you."

"Then show me." He whispered.

She reached for him and once again Jonathan fell under the spell of her autumn eyes. Jennifer's eyes could suspend time and worlds beyond the door ceased to exist when they held him. It had been so hard at times, the journey they'd made together to this place. All their struggles and joys—like Yin and Yang in those beautiful eyes. And now, with the eternal promise securely on her hand, there was nothing to hold them back.

He felt her creamy skin under his hands, and his skin upon hers. Her body was a poem and his mouth gently read every line. Pulling her body onto his, they moved together as one and their bodies created tender verse. It was a narrative of the love story that Fate penned from an elevator. Shadows fell upon her face, faintly lit by a solitary flame. Quietly they wrapped themselves in the warm sonnet that was their love until they were breathless and tired. They held each other—a tangle of sheets, and skin, and satisfaction. He closed his eyes and softly traced the tiny scar on her back, remembering his dream. _God, what if I lost her? What if I had to give her back? Please, God…I know there are legions of men more worthy of an answered prayer but please don't ever take her from me. I might never find my way back into the light._

Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips, kissing the stone on her finger.

"Christening your insurance policy?"

"Do you really like it?"

"It's more than I ever dreamed of."

"And you're more than I ever dreamed of." He kissed her softly on the shoulder.

"I honestly had no idea that this was going to happen tonight. And the bracelet… it's beautiful too."

"See, I can keep a secret."

"Yes you can. I stand corrected. But you're not the only one."

"I'm not?"

"It just so happens that I have a surprise for you."

"How could you have a surprise for me when you didn't even know we were coming here?"

"I'm just that good." She winked and crawled out of bed. He watched as she moved through the shadows of the room, stopping at her suitcase. She returned carrying the large manila envelope. He could see her expression had changed and the playful look she'd worn moments before was now replaced with a more serious one. She slipped back into bed next to him, taking a deep breath and a moment to compose herself. She looked up at Jonathan. His blue eyes were attentive and honest and filled with nothing but love.

"You wrote a letter to me after my surgery. Not just any letter but a love letter. My very first love letter. I probably never even told you that. The words and emotions that you expressed to me in that letter were things I could only dream about. You took a story that haunted me and shaped it into a beautiful, poetic piece of prose. It was so poignant that I now question who the true writer in this relationship might be. Never has anything touched me so deeply." She looked down at the envelope. "I wanted to give you something that would touch you the same way your letter touched me. My father and I tried every avenue we could think of to give you the one thing you've always wanted, but we came up empty handed."

"What are you talking about?"

"I tried to locate your birth parents."

"Oh, Jennifer," He smiled sweetly. "I gave up on that search a long time ago. Maybe they're gone or maybe they don't want to be found. It's okay. But I love the thought."

"My father has some very influential friends in DC. And even though there are many secrets and resources hiding in the nation's capital, not one led me to them. I contacted the Mission Home and we tried some contacts with the DPC. But every trail was a dead end. I'm so sorry." He could hear the disappointment in her voice…and it moved him beyond words.

"The DPC?"

"Displaced Persons Commission."

"Never even heard of it."

"It's a part of the National Archives."

"I can't believe you went to all that trouble."

"There was only one other thing I could think of that might express how I feel about you…and this is it." She handed him the envelope.

"What's this?" He asked, taking it from her. Reaching inside, he removed a second envelope, addressed to Stephen.

"This says Stephen Edwards?" Jonathan still did not understand.

"Open it…" She bit her lip.

Carefully, he opened the second envelope and removed a photograph and two keys. His heart pounded in his chest.

"This isn't the …" He shook his head in disbelief.

"House in Mandeville Canyon? Yes, it is."

"You bought it?"

"No, my father bought it. For us."

"But how?"

"He has some very connected golf buddies."

"My God, Jennifer…" He shook his head in disbelief.

"Surprise!"

"How the hell did he convince that old man to sell?"

"I don't know. I haven't had a chance to talk to him about it. I didn't even know the sale had gone through. He just stuck this in my suitcase with a note."

"No one's ever given me a gift like this." He shook his head again.

"I know how much Gavin meant to you. I just want to make sure that someone's happy ending comes true there. It's too beautiful a home to be filled with sadness. Plus, the gate's already monogrammed."

"I can't believe you did this for me—for us. I honestly don't know what to say." His eyes connected with hers once more.

Jennifer placed her hand on top of his; the light of the candle falling gently upon the diamond on her finger.

"Just say you love me."

XXXXXXXXXX

Rolling over, she reached out for him. She wasn't surprised to find that she was alone and she stared at the empty spot beside her. Jonathan stood at the window, staring at a darkened Napa sky. She could tell he was lost in intense thought; his arms folded firmly across his chest. His body appeared rigid and his shoulders tight. On the chair beside him sat the envelope from her father. The feelings of excitement that filled her earlier were now replaced with feelings of doubt. _Maybe I should have waited. Maybe he doesn't even want the house._ Quietly, she slipped out of bed and tiptoed across a trail of rose petals. Wrapping her arms around him, she laid her head against his back. She could hear his heartbeat, and she pulled him closer. He reached down, resting his arms on top of hers. They held each other for several moments, surrounded by silence.

"Can't sleep?"

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't wake me. I was just missing you." She kissed his back twice, but his posture remained tense.

"Are you okay?" She whispered, knowing the answer.

"Fine." His tone was anything but convincing.

"I guess I zigged when I should have zagged."

"What?" He asked, unsure of her meaning.

"I should have discussed the house thing with you first. I debated back and forth…"

Jonathan turned to face her, hugging her close. Gently, he ran his fingers through her hair, letting it fall upon her shoulders.

"Aw Darling, it's not that. I love the house. It's our house—the place where I fell in love with you." He whispered, lifting her chin to see her eyes.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know. I just keep having these words go through my mind."

"What words?"

"Max's words." He paused a moment, thinking back on the poignant conversation they'd shared in the hospital.

"What did he say?"

"We were talking about you. And Maggie."

"When was this?"

"Right after he was moved outta ICU. Right after I'd asked you to marry me."

"And?"

"And he told me that this can only be real if there's a chance you could hurt me."

With her arm around his waist, she slowly led him back to bed.

"And is it? Real, I mean."

"It's not just real. There's actually a strange irony about it."

"What do you mean?"

"The night after Max's aneurysm, I was driving home from the hospital listening to the radio. I heard that old Eric Carmen song _All By Myself_. You know that song, right?

"Yeah…"

"I'd never really listened to the lyrics before even though it's one of those songs we've all sung along with on the radio for years. And when I thought about it, it was like it'd been written about my life. I pulled into the parking garage at my apartment and just stayed in the car listening to it. I started thinking about Max and how he might not make it and then I realized—I mean really understood just how short our lives are and that we could be gone in a minute. And then I thought about who I needed call to tell about Max. And aside from Sarah and Archer, there was no one. There was not one person I had a close, personal relationship with that I could call. I had no one, Jennifer. No one. Sure, I had the standard little black book full of numbers, but no substance. Nothing real."

"I understand." She gently swept his hair off his forehead.

"I sat in my car and prayed for my life to take a different direction. Now I'm not an especially devout man. I believe in God and heaven and I pray. But I'm not a Bible thumper by any stretch. And now my prayer has been answered—for whatever reason. Not exactly in the manner I thought it would. I certainly didn't expect to be sitting at what might have been Max's deathbed and meet the woman of my dreams." He exhaled loudly, pulling her closer. "It was just so much easier before."

"Before? Before what? Before you met me? Not exactly the sentiment I'd think you'd share subsequent to giving me an enormous diamond ring." She gave him a look.

"That's not what I mean. Before I met you, I didn't have to care. Not about anyone or anything—I mean on an intimate level. I didn't love anyone. And that's where the irony comes in."

"Jonathan, I still don't understand what you're talking about."

"The deeper the emotion, the greater the fear. I'm a middle aged man, quickly approaching fifty and for the first time in my life I'm scared. I've never been scared of losing anything in my life, Jennifer. I'm a gambler. I always have been. I never allowed myself to get too attached to anything because I learned from a very early age that nothing is forever. I've walked on this earth for years guided by little more than luck. I've dropped thousands at the track only to turn around and double my money at a poker game the very same day. I've bet holdings to entire companies on the putting green. I've spent a Friday night in one woman's bed only to wake up on Sunday morning in another's. I existed in a disposable life. But there's one thing in my life that I will not gamble away and that's you."

The suite went quiet for several minutes. Jennifer rested her head on his chest and listened to the sound of his heart beating while she searched her thoughts for a reply. Her mind returned to the photograph that had fallen out of his wallet when they'd checked in. She'd never seen it before. The resemblance between Jonathan and man in the photo was uncanny.

"Jonathan?" She whispered.

"Yes."

"Will you tell me about that man?"

He didn't answer right away, but he knew exactly what she was referring to. The photo from his wallet. He'd wanted to bring it up at dinner, but the mood was too light and he didn't want to darken their celebration.

"He's my father." A heavy sigh escaped him. "That photo was the only personal effect I received when I aged out of Mission Street. Evidently it was the only thing I arrived with when I entered the orphanage. I have no idea about my mother."

"And how old were you?"

"Just two months old."

"Surely they could have given you a name? An address or something?"

"I tried. Max tried. A string of private investigators have tried. Mission Street burned to the ground. All the records were lost."

Hearing these words made her heart ache and she almost wished he hadn't asked about the photo. She remembered their first night together—when he told her about his relationship with Nikki. _I wasn't in love with her, but I adored her family._ He could provide himself with every luxury known to man, but he'd been unable to acquire one very basic thing: a real family.

"I know he'd be so very proud of you."

"I think he'd be proud of some things and very disappointed with others. But if he could see you…" He pulled her close. And although the room was dark, she knew he was smiling.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan sat quietly reading Friday's Wall Street Journal on the plane, completely consumed. Sitting beside him with a watchful eye, she studied his every expression. The weekend, like everyone since they'd met, had gone by too fast. They'd just touched down in Napa when it was already time to pack up and head back home.

"You're doing it again." He looked at Jennifer and smiled, knowing he was being watched.

"Doing what?"

"You're staring."

"I'm not. I'm looking."

"Just looking?"

"And wondering…"

"About what?"

"How I got so lucky."

"I'm the lucky one." He closed the paper. Taking her hand, he rubbed the diamond on her finger with his thumb. "I've just pulled off the greatest con in the history of the world." He whispered.

"Really?" She smiled sweetly. "How's that?"

"I've convinced the most beautiful woman in the world to wear this ring and be mine for the rest of my life." He kissed her hand.

"It's gonna take more convincing than just that." She pointed to her lips with a smile.

"Come here…" He nodded.

"Nope. You come here." She grinned and bit her lip.

He leaned over toward her; their lips almost touching.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. You know that, don't you?" He whispered in his husky tone.

"I do. And I hope you're taking requests."

XXXXXXXXXX

They were almost to the hotel when Jonathan reached in his pocket, producing a folded piece of paper. He held it out to her, never taking his eyes off the road.

"What's this?" She asked.

"Contract."

"Contract? For what?"

"Terms and conditions of the ring."

She smiled warily, taking the paper from his hand.

"I thought all contracts were to be presented prior to final negotiations."

"Well, normally that's true. All that late night negotiating threw me off standard operating procedure." He winked.

"Your operating procedure was just fine and anything but standard." She winked back.

"Go ahead. Read it."

Jennifer unfolded the paper and cleared her throat.

 _In the matter of The Ring  
Party of the 1st part: Jonathan Hart, known hereto as "Ring Bearer"  
Party of the 2nd part: Jennifer Edwards, known hereto as "Ring Wearer" _

"When did you do this?"

"I had my legal department draw it up." He smiled.

She smiled and shook her head as she continued to read aloud.

 _I, the undersigned, recognize that as the wearer of this ring, I agree to the following terms of this contract. If any or all conditions fail to meet compliance on a daily basis, I do hereby forfeit, in right and perpetuity, this ring until such time that each condition can be reconsidered or the aforementioned parties are legally wed. All conditions must be followed to the letter, or this contract shall be considered null and void._

"You can't be serious." She laughed.

"Go on…" He urged, with a wave of his hand.

 _Item #1: Wearer must never remove ring for any length of time, except in the presence of the Ring Bearer. (Including, but not limited to heavy petting in a hot tub, bubble bath, or shower for two)._

 _Item #2: Wearer shall never accept any items traditionally deemed "romantic" (i.e. jewelry, chocolates, flowers, etc.) from anyone other than the Ring Bearer._

 _Item #3: Wearer's lips shall never be in contact with anyone other than the Party of the 1st part. (This includes all delicious body parts, thus covering the Party of the 2nd part in her entirety.)_

 _Item #4: Wearer may dance with other gentlemen when asked given the following: they are guests at a wedding or special function, the Party of the 1st part is present, and/or all slow dances are in the arms of the Ring Bearer._

 _Item #5: Party of the 2nd part must reside with the Party of the 1st part from this day forward. No exceptions, as this item is non-negotiable._

"Jonathan, but we agreed—"

"Max and I talked about it. He couldn't understand why you stayed at the hotel in the first place. He adores you. We're going to all be together anyway. What's a couple of months going to matter?"

"You don't think it's too soon?"

"I can't have you away from me." He reached for her left hand. "Gotta stay close to my investment—for insurance purposes, you know." He kissed her finger.

"Of course." She winked.

"I want us to be together. I want to make the most of every moment we have—every single moment." Jonathan pulled up to the entrance of the hotel. He stopped the car and turned to face her. She could see in his eyes that he was serious—no more silly contracts, no more playful teasing.

"We don't know how much time we're given. Your gift helped me see that better than anything. I love you and even one night away from you is too much. Please come home with me." He leaned over and kissed her with a dozen soft, warm kisses. Every time his lips touched hers, it felt like the first time and she was helpless against him. Just when she thought that her heart was at its fullest it somehow found the ability to stretch just a bit more, allowing another piece of his soul within it. Slowly, he pulled away and smiled, leaving her breathless once again.

"Did that close the deal?" He whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

"Where do I sign?"

XXXXXXXXXX

"There she is!" Stephen held out his arms.

"Hi Pa." Jennifer embraced him warmly.

"Jonathan…" Stephen extended his hand.

"How are you, sir?"

"Fine, fine. Now, where's the wheelbarrow?"

"Wheelbarrow?" Jennifer asked, confused.

"You can't possibly be schlepping that enormous diamond around by yourself, now can you?"

"Oh, Pa!" She gave Jonathan a smile.

"Well, let's see it then." He reached for his daughter's hand. Jennifer held it up for her father's inspection.

"Not bad, huh?" She smiled proudly.

"I don't know," He paused. "I think it looked pretty good on the blonde you had with you yesterday."

"Nice try. But not all gentlemen prefer blondes." She gave him a look.

"Not this one, anyway." Jonathan smiled.

"Listen, we want to take you to dinner—no arguments. So if you're planning on curling up with a pitcher or two, it'll have to wait. We've already called ahead for a reservation."

"That sounds lovely."

Jennifer turned to Jonathan, "Let me change and then we'll get going. Be right back."

"Can I fix you a quick drink before we go?" Stephen asked when he and Jonathan were alone.

"No sir, I'm fine."

"Well, if you can wait, then I guess I can too."

Jennifer opened the door to the bathroom; a puzzled look on her face.

"Stephen Edwards, where are my clothes?"

"They're gone."

"I can see that. Where are they?"

"Well, I lost them."

"What do you mean you _lost them_?"

"Well, Darling I mean just that. I lost them. In a poker game."

"You lost my clothes in a poker game? How?"

"The customary way, my dear."

"You were playing _strip poker?_ In _my_ clothes?" She tried not to laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous." Stephen shook his head.

"Well, that's the customary way I lose them." She winked at Jonathan.

"I joined Max and Barbara and a couple of other gentlemen for an intimate poker game last night."

"Just how intimate? Were you wearing my lingerie as well?"

"Max and I were talking about the two of you and the wedding and such and how Jonathan had been planning this trip to give you the ring for the longest time. I made the comment that it would be even more difficult to keep you two apart now. Max said that he and Jonathan had discussed having you move into the apartment with them. Well, I told him it was absolutely out of the question and he told me that people do things differently in California and that I needed to relax _._ "

Jennifer and Jonathan exchanged smirks.

"I told him that I felt it would be keeping with tradition that you two live apart until after the wedding. And you know what he said? _Some traditions are slightly out-dated._ So naturally, my pride got the better of me and we made a wager at the poker table. If he won, I'd give my blessing and you'd move in with them. If I won, you'd come home to Maryland until the wedding. And I lost. So your clothes have been relocated to Jonathan's closet."

"So let me get this straight. You and Max made a bet as to where I'm going to live? A grown woman who has moved about this earth of her own free will for the last how many years now?"

"Well, it's not like you couldn't see each other on weekends and such. The man owns his own plane."

She looked at Jonathan, shaking her head. Jonathan could not contain his laughter and once he started, neither could Stephen.

"You two are putting me on."

"I did play cards with Max and he let me in on a little secret about you living there for a bit until you need to come home before the wedding."

"I told you that Max and I had discussed it." Jonathan smiled at her.

"I have just one thing to say about it." Stephen paused. "She's a bed hog, Jonathan. Always stealing the covers when she was a little girl. You better keep a close eye on her." He nodded.

"I can hardly keep my eyes off her." Jonathan replied with a wink.

"Between you two and Max I give up. I'm completely outnumbered."

"Kind of like having your very own set of Stooges." His blue eyes sparkled.

XXXXXXXXXX

Their drinks had not even arrived and already they were laughing and telling stories. Stephen shared the play-by-play of his poker game with Max and Barbara and a couple of Max's buddies. Evidently, Barbara mopped the floor with all of them and Stephen's wallet was lighter by two hundred and twenty five dollars.

"You've got a wedding to pay for and you're gambling my dowry away?"

"I'm done with Barbara. She calls herself a nurse but she inflicts more pain than she relieves." The waiter arrived with their cocktails and Stephen quickly downed half his martini. "Now then, let's talk wedding."

Dinner conversation revolved around guest accommodations, music selection and floral arrangements. Jennifer had to laugh at her two men—completely caught up in the pageantry of a wedding. Her mind wandered for a moment as she tried to imagine her father planning a wedding with Elliot. _What would that have been like?_ They could barely make it through one evening sitting together at the same table. A wedding would've been out of the question. Her father would've simply taken his blessing elsewhere while Elliot happily jumped from a plane over a Vegas wedding chapel dressed as Elvis.

The waiter placed a cup of coffee in front of her, bringing her thoughts back to the table.

"Darling, are you alright?" Jonathan reached for her hand.

"Yes, I'm fine." She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.

"The waiter asked if you'd care to see the dessert tray."

"Ah, no. I'm fine, thank you." She nodded at the waiter.

Jonathan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to Stephen.

"Look familiar?" He asked.

"What a beautiful house." Stephen studied the photo.

Jennifer smiled. "It certainly is."

"I guess Jennifer wasn't the only one to receive a surprise this weekend then?" Stephen added.

"How the hell did you manage to get this?"

"I have some contacts that helped get the ball rolling." He finished off the last of his martini and signaled for the waiter.

"But I thought the old man was firm in his decision not to sell again?"

"Jonathan Hart, I'm surprised at you." Stephen shook his head.

"Why?" Jennifer asked, confused at her father's statement.

"You're not the only one at this table to make someone an offer they couldn't refuse."

XXXXXXXXXX

Quietly, Jonathan slipped his key in the door of his apartment. It was late and he hoped Max would be sleeping. He followed Jennifer inside with their bags, dropping his keys in the bowl as he passed the small table. They found Barbara asleep on the sofa, but no sign of Max. Gently, Jennifer placed her hand on Barbara's shoulder to wake her.

"We're home." She whispered with a smile.

"Welcome back. I'm glad you made it home safely."

"Thank you. How's the patient?" Jonathan asked.

"He's fine. May need some additional therapy for his aching wallet though."

"I understand you showed the boys a thing or two." Jennifer nodded.

"I was on a roll. But don't worry, you'll get everything back that I won off your old man. I've earmarked that little bank roll for your wedding present."

"Aw, that's very sweet of you."

"Now then, let's see the goods." Barbara reached for Jennifer's hand. "My goodness, Jonathan. You sure can pick 'em."

"I sure can. And I didn't do so bad with the ring either." He smiled at Jennifer.

"Well listen you two, I'm gonna scoot. Jennifer, congratulations. I'm so excited for you." The two women exchanged a quick hug.

"Thanks, Barbara. Please be careful going home."

"Let me take your things down for you." Jonathan picked up her bag from beside the sofa.

"Nonsense. I can get it."

"No, I insist. All big money winners in this house get the royal treatment just like in Vegas." He gave her a wink.

"Alright then. Goodnight, Jennifer."

"Goodnight."

"I'll be right back up." Jonathan held the door open for Barbara then closed it softly behind him. Jennifer flopped down on the sofa, exhausted after a long day and the even longer night that preceded it. She couldn't wait to slip into Jonathan's pajamas, Jonathan's bed, and Jonathan's arms.

"Where's Mr. H?"

Jennifer sat up and turned to the voice behind her.

"Oh hi, Max. I hope we didn't wake you."

"Naw, I was awake. I heard you come in. Where's Mr. H?"

"He went down with Barbara. He'll be right back. Did you need something?"

"Well actually, I'm glad we have a moment alone. I kinda wanted to talk to you in private. May I?" He motioned to the sofa.

"Certainly. Please come sit with me. Do you need any help?"

"Nope, I got it. Just takes me a minute." Carefully, Max maneuvered the walker around the sofa and sat down beside Jennifer. She smiled sweetly at him.

"First off, I gotta see how the rock looks on you." He glanced down at her hand.

"He picked a winner with this one, don't you think?" She held her hand out for him.

"I sure do. It looks beautiful on you."

"Thank you."

"Listen, I just want you to know how happy I am that you'll be here with us until the wedding. I want to make sure you understand that I'm okay with it. Mr. H told me it was your idea to stay at the hotel this whole time. And that was a very kind gesture on your part. But one thing you'll learn about me—when the people around me are happy and doing what they want to be doing, then that makes me happy. And you two being apart isn't making either one of your happy. See what I mean?"

"I think so." Jennifer looked down at the ring on her finger. "I have one question though. How were you so sure that I'd agree to this arrangement? I could have said no and we'd have left things as they were."

"No chance."

"Why not?"

"'Cause Mr. H could sell ice to Eskimos." He gave her a wink.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan stared at the photograph. For the first time in his life, as he looked at the man's smiling face, he felt his own happiness. He studied him—the man who'd had to make a tough choice. He focused on the baby cradled in his arms. It was firm, protective. He imagined holding a child of his own the same way, taking the very same photo with Jennifer as they held their own beautiful baby in their arms. He'd never seen himself as a happily married father but he could see it now. He looked over at the silver framed photo of her. Her hair was longer and her face a little fuller. The shy smile on her face that said, _'Please don't take my picture, Pa'_ as she leaned over the paddock railing. Dressed in a plain white tee shirt, with her jeans tucked into her tall, dark riding boots, she'd never looked more beautiful. He couldn't help smiling at her. This was the Jennifer he loved best—the natural beauty that didn't have to try…she simply was. The door to the bathroom opened and she smiled.

"Don't say it. Your pajamas have never looked better." She winked.

"Madam, your mind-reading powers are astounding." He placed the photo next to Jennifer's, propping it up against the frame.

"I bet I can read more than just your thoughts." The gypsy replied, giving him a naughty smile.

"Is that so?" He responded as she crawled in bed beside him.

He kissed her deeply, gently rolling her onto her back. The taste of his lips there in the yummy bed made her weak as she remembered the jazz and shadows that surrounded them that first night together. And now, she'd be sharing his bed every night. Her innermost room would never want for company again.

"Welcome home." He whispered with a smile.

"There's no place like it." Jennifer reached inside the chest pocket of the pajama top and pulled out a key.

"Can you believe it? It's our house _._ "

"You know, now that I think about it, he did ask quite a few questions about it that night at dinner. About Gavin and the original owner. But I never guessed..."

"We've had an amazing weekend, haven't we?"

"And the weekend isn't over." Jonathan gave her earlobe a playful nip. "You know that story we wrote in Napoleon's love nest?"

"Vaguely…" She teased.

"It's time to write the sequel."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Max, we're going to run a couple of errands then we're stopping by Doc's for a bit. Do you need anything while we're out?"

"No, I'm good."

"You sure you'll be alright? I can call down and have Nathan come up until we get back."

"Are you kidding me? You're only gonna be gone what? An hour? Two? I'm not an invalid. I'll be fine. The doctor says it's good for me to do some things on my own. You two have a good time."

"I'd just feel better if Nathan—"

"Jennifer?" Max looked to her for support.

Jennifer looked at Jonathan. "You heard the man." Taking his hand, she led Jonathan to the door. "Bye, Max. We'll see you later."

"Bye." He hollered back.

Once inside the elevator, Jennifer started in.

"Jonathan, Max is not a child. He has to learn to do things on his own again and he wants to do things on his own. You've got to stop babying him. And me."

"I just worry about the two of you."

"I know you do and that's very sweet. But it's time to stop."

"It's time to what?"

"It's time to stop."

"I'm sorry, what?" Jonathan tugged on his ear.

"I said it's time to stop."

"Wait, what did you say? It's time to what?"

"Jonathan, I said it's time to stop!" She repeated once more in an annoyed tone. He reached for the emergency stop button on the elevator panel. The alarm sounded and the elevator came to an abrupt halt. Taking her in his arms, he smiled.

"That's what I thought you said." He kissed her with the same surprise and excitement he felt the first time his lips found hers. Pulling away, he gave her a mischievous grin. "I just love to hear you beg."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer sighed with relief when they arrived at Doc's building. The dark street she remembered looked much more welcoming in the mid-morning sunlight. Jonathan ushered her into the lobby and pressed the button for his apartment beside the row of black mailboxes. No answer. Again, Jonathan pressed the button and waited. Nothing.

"Maybe he's gone out."

"I don't think so. Look at this." Jonathan pointed to the mailbox. "His name's not on his mailbox anymore. And his initials used to be beside the button, but they're gone."

"You don't think he moved, do you?"

"Well, I guess it's possible."

"But why would a man his age move? And with all his books?"

"I don't know." Jonathan reached into his pocket for his phone. "Let me call him." He pulled the wrinkled business card from his wallet and dialed the number. Jennifer could tell by his expression that something was wrong. "It's just a recording. The number's been disconnected." He said, closing his phone.

"Maybe we could ask someone. A neighbor?" She suggested.

"I hate to bother someone we don't even know. We could come back later?"

"Alright."

They turned to make their way back to the car. As they stepped outside the lobby of the apartment building, an elderly woman entered. She nodded and smiled as she passed them. Jonathan quickly turned around.

"Excuse me, Ma'am."

"Yes?" The woman stopped.

"We're looking for Dr. Hirschberg—apartment number six. Do you know him?"

"Are you relatives?" She replied with a heavy German accent.

"No ma'am, we're just friends. We buy books from him and we're just a little concerned because we noticed that his name is no longer on his mailbox. I tried calling, but his phone has been disconnected."

"Oh I'm so sorry, but Dr. Hirschberg passed away."

Jonathan felt his stomach drop. "He passed away? Are you sure?" Jennifer reached for his hand, lacing her fingers tightly in his.

"Yes, he was found in his apartment by Mrs. Turney, the lady who lives across the hall from him. She hadn't heard his music in a day or two and became concerned. He listened to his opera records everyday. He died peacefully in his sleep."

Suddenly, summertime in Los Angeles turned ice cold.

"What about his stuff? All his books?" Jonathan asked frantically.

"Well, everything is gone. All his children have gone to a new home."

"His children? You mean his books?" Jennifer asked.

"Yes, a big truck came to pick everything up. On Thursday, I think it was."

"Do you know who or where?" He searched the woman's eyes for clues.

"He left everything he owned to some charity in San Francisco. I can't recall the name, but Mrs. Turney would know."

"A charity? In San Francisco?" Jonathan questioned.

"Do you know what type of charity?" Jennifer asked.

"I'm sorry, I don't. You'll have to ask Mrs. Turney."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer rested her hand gently upon Jonathan's as he firmly gripped the gear shift. He'd been completely silent since leaving Doc's apartment building. She wanted desperately to say something—to comfort him in some way. But something about his eyes and his posture made her hold back. He needed to think and reflect by himself. It would be a while before she could erase the expressions she witnessed as he'd listened to Mrs. Turney's story. She'd watched him; his head in his hands. He was completely heartbroken at the loss of this man. A man that may have held the end of a frayed string, tying him to Jonathan's past. He'd sat staring blankly at the obituary section from an outdated paper. Just a name, a date, and time of service. That was it. Dr. Benjamin Daniel Hirschberg. An entire life, devoted to caring for the sick and brightening the lives of all those around him, reduced to two lines in the newspaper. Jennifer had read the modest lines over his shoulder, feeling the pain she knew was in Jonathan's heart. She gave his hand a loving squeeze. He glanced her way, offering a sliver of a smile.

"I'm so sorry." She squeezed his hand again.

Again, Jonathan returned to his quiet thoughts as they drove back to the apartment. His mind ran through a list of those who'd been lost: his parents, Jennifer's mother, Gavin Everett, Maggie, and now Doc. A list that would inevitably continue to grow longer with each passing year of his life. One day Max's name would find its way to the list. Stephen's another. _Living is not without dying,_ he considered. He remembered Stephen's words at dinner— _Fate has his hand in everything at once._ Looking down at their hands, he focused on the diamond ring on her finger. He prayed silently that the day his name would be added to that fateful list, it would be well before Jennifer's.

"Why would a childless Jewish man leave everything he owed to a Protestant mission?" Jonathan asked after several minutes of silence.

"Because he cared about people—regardless of their religion."

"I'd like to do something special for him."

"I think that would be really nice. What are you thinking about?"

"I don't know exactly. Some kind of memorial."

"I think we should." She nodded.

Jonathan paused and shook his head. "I just can't believe it. If what Mrs. Turney said was true, then he might have been involved with the Mission Street Home during the time I was there."

"Well, whether he remembered you as a baby or not, he did care for you. It was obvious that night we saw him."

"It never even entered my mind that he might have passed away when I noticed the mailbox. He was just such a sweet old man." His voice cracked.

"Me either." She continued to hold his hand, rubbing her thumb on his. "He was a very special soul. And he's in a special place right now." She gave him a smile.

"I know we have a lot to do between now and the wedding, but maybe when we get back from the honeymoon, we could set up some type of scholarship in his name."

"I think that would be wonderful. And I know Doc would love that."

 **TBC**

 **Now's as good a time for a review as any, don't you think?**


	12. Chapter 12

"Jennifer, Darling, it's for you." Stephen hollered from downstairs.

"Thanks. I'll take it up here." She cleared a spot off the bed and sat down. Reaching for the receiver, she was already smiling before she ever heard his voice.

"Hello?"

"Hi Beautiful."

"Hi."

"How's the packing coming?"

Jennifer surveyed her childhood bedroom and the stacks of clothes surrounding her.

"Oh fine. It's just that I'm not sure exactly what to pack."

"Just a toothbrush and a trench coat, and you should be fine."

"I hardly think I'll get by with just that."

"Well I'm not planning on leaving the hotel."

"What about the London-by-night tour you promised?"

"That's what the trench coat is for."

"Oh."

"And the rest of the time…well, it's not like you'll really need much to wear."

"Good point." She smiled and bit her lip. "Are you and Max still on schedule?"

"We'll be landing around eight o'clock. And we're bringing another passenger."

"Who?"

"A friend of mine. You've never met him before. But you're gonna love him, I promise."

"A wedding guest? It's kind of crazy around here with the caterers and florists and what-not. I really don't think I'm up to entertaining one of your friends right now. I've got the final fitting in the morning for my dress and we still have to pick up the marriage license…"

"I assure you he's very easy going. He won't bother you a bit."

"So you'll drop him off at the hotel on your way out here?"

"Well actually, I talked with your father and he said it would be fine if he stayed out at the house."

"He did? With everything that's going on, he agreed to a houseguest?"

Jonathan could tell by her tone that she was not pleased.

"I give you my word that he won't be in the way. And besides, Max can keep an eye on him. Now do you trust me?" Though she couldn't see him, she knew those blue eyes were shining.

"As long as you promise that we can go about the last minute details _without_ interruptions."

"Scouts' Honor." He smiled.

"I've heard that before." She rolled her eyes.

"I'll see you tonight. I love you."

"I love you too. See you soon."

Jonathan hung up the phone and turned to Max, shrugging his shoulders.

"Did she buy it?" Max asked, slipping a cigar into the inner pocket of his jacket.

"She wasn't happy about it but she's going along with it."

"You must be slippin' Mr. H. You rarely have to give the hard sell."

"I feel bad about lying to her."

"You're not lying. You just not telling her everything."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Only if you're in a court of law." Max smiled mischievously.

"We should get going. We still have a couple of stops to make on the way."

"Can you believe that this'll be the last time you leave the apartment as a bachelor?"

Jonathan nodded and smiled. "It's pretty crazy when you think about how different our lives were just a few months ago."

"And everything should be finished up at the house when you get back. It's gonna be great living out there. I really love the place."

"It's a very special house. I know that having Jennifer with us will really make it feel like a home." He patted Max's shoulder.

"Of course. Jennifer is the best thing to ever happen to us." Max grinned.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was after nine o'clock when Jonathan and Max arrived. Jennifer could hardly wait to see him. It had been a week since they'd been together, but it felt like forever. She quickly made her way outside, finding that Stephen had already beat her to the car.

"Finally!" Jennifer threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"Absence does make the heart grow fonder." He winked at Stephen before kissing his future wife.

Jennifer glanced inside the car. "Where's your friend? And Max?"

"Well, he wasn't feeling so good after the flight, so you father sent them up to the guest house. You can meet him in the morning."

Jennifer gave him a look. "I knew this would happen. You brought a sick guest out here two days before our wedding?"

"Relax. Everything is under control. Just a little motion sickness. He's not used to flying in such a small aircraft. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"I'm holding you personally responsible." She poked her finger against his chest.

"You can hold me any way you like." He gave her a naughty grin.

"Well, Jonathan, let's get your things inside. I'm sure you're exhausted." Stephen reached inside the trunk. The three made their way into the house, with Walter the houseman giving them a hand.

"You get settled upstairs and I'll have a Scotch waiting for you upon your return."

"That sounds great." He followed Jennifer upstairs with his suitcase and garment bag. At the landing, he turned to make his way to her room when she caught his arm.

"Wrong way, Hotshot."

"But your bedroom is this way." He pointed.

"Yes, _my_ bedroom is that way. Your bedroom is this way."

"Oh c'mon. You gotta be kidding me?"

"Sorry, my dear. Rules of the house."

"Your rule or Stephen's?"

"Actually, we both agreed."

"Now is not the time to start buying into your father's _outdated traditions."_

"It's like you said… _absence makes the heart grow fonder."_

"Among other body parts…"

"Jonathan Hart!"

"I'm a bad boy. Punish me." He put down the suitcase and pinned her up against the wall. Closing his eyes, he buried his head in hair, drinking in her delicious scent.

"I've missed you." He whispered in her ear; his husky voice making her weak.

"The way I see it, you've got two things going for you." She tried to remain composed.

"Just two? I am slipping." He kissed her ear then moved down her neck.

"One: my father sleeps like a bear. He never wakes up."

"That's good. And two?"

"I never met a lock you couldn't pick."

XXXXXXXXXX

Stephen was waiting behind the bar, drink in hand as promised, when he and Jennifer returned downstairs.

"Shall we make a small toast?" He handed the glass to Jonathan.

"Actually, I'd like to offer one, if that's alright."

"Certainly." He smiled as he refilled his martini glass.

"I'd like to make a toast to the most wonderful family in the world. Stephen, I am honored to become your son-in-law. And Jennifer…yeah, you're okay too." He winked and clicked his glass against Stephen's.

"Cute." She smiled and tapped his glass.

They spent the better part of the evening laughing and joking with Stephen. He pulled out the wedding album of when he and Suzanne married in France. Again, Jennifer begged to hear the story of how they met. And of course he obliged. She loved to watch the way his eyes lit up when he told stories of her mother. If only she could have her mother back for one day—just to see them dance together at her wedding.

"Now listen, I've taken the liberty of writing out a list of things that need to be accomplished tomorrow before the rehearsal. Jonathan, this one's for you. Darling, here's yours." He handed each of them a list.

"Can you make sure that Walter is at the airport at noon to pick up Patsy?"

"I'll remind him again before I go to bed."

Jonathan inspected his list, smiling as he read each task.

"Stephen, you're the master of efficiency. Looks like everything's in order."

"I just want you two to enjoy yourselves. There's really not that much to be done. Forty-eight hours from now, you'll be husband and wife."

"Aw, let's not wait." He turned and rested his hands on Jennifer's knees. "If we leave now, we can be in Vegas before midnight. Let's just cancel the wedding."

"You have no idea how I've prayed to hear you say that." She threw back the rest of her martini and stood up. "I'm already packed. Just let me grab a couple of things and I'll be right back down." She kissed him on the cheek. "Call your pilot and let him know. Oh and Daddy, call out to the guest house and let Max know." Jennifer hurried upstairs.

"What just happened?" Jonathan looked at Stephen.

"I think she called your bluff."

"You don't think she's serious, do you?"

"Well, we have been rather difficult to deal with about all this."

"I better go up."

"Well, I'm calling it a night. If you head to Vegas, put a C-note on black for me. But I'm having this party with or without you."

"Oh we'll be back in time for the party." He winked.

Jonathan made his way upstairs to find Jennifer's bedroom door closed. Quietly, he knocked.

"May I come in?"

"Of course," She called.

Jonathan opened the door and smiled. She was waiting for him in the light of a single votive candle. Softly, he closed and locked the door, laughing and shaking his head.

"Vegas is strictly for suckers." She smiled, quoting a line from her unfinished novel.

"Well, that's how Vegas makes its living—off suckers." Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt as he walked toward her bed. "But I work for you."

"And don't you forget it." She winked.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jonathan," She whispered in a sleepy tone. "what are you doing?" She wasn't fully awake, but found herself laughing. "Jonathan, stop it. That tickles."

"I'm not doing anything." He whispered back.

"But it's the middle of the night. Leave me alone." She laughed.

"It's not the middle of the night. It's six-thirty. And it's not me."

Jennifer opened her eyes. She could see the outline of Jonathan's body beside her. She jumped and sat up quickly, turning on the lamp beside the bed.

"Oh Jonathan…" She cried out when she saw the puppy on the end of her bed.

"See? I told you it wasn't me." He smiled.

"Where did you come from little guy?" She reached and picked him up, cradling him in her arms. "He is a little guy, isn't he?"

"Yep." Jonathan reached over to pet him. "He's a good boy. Aren't you a good boy?"

"He's adorable. When did you get him?"

"I found him a few days ago. I took Max down to Medical Center for physical therapy and he was just sitting on the side of the freeway. No leash. No tags. No sign of anyone with him. I think someone just dumped him. I couldn't leave him. Someone would have hit him. I stopped and opened my door and he hopped right in. But don't worry, I have every intention of putting him up for adoption." He gave a sideways smile.

"You will do no such thing. He's precious. We're keeping him."

"Well, I wouldn't want to go against our bet." Jonathan grinned.

"All bets are off. Aren't they, you precious little angel?" She rubbed her nose against the puppy's.

"You're sure? 'Cause we agreed that we'd pick out a puppy together."

"Well, that was before you found him."

"I think this should be our wedding gift to each other. You, me, the Kid here—instant family."

"Have you named him yet?"

"Nope. Max's been calling him Dog, but I don't think that's very original."

"What does he look like to you?"

"Benji?"

"No. Too Hollywood. You said you found him on the freeway?"

"Yep."

"Then that's it."

"Freeway?" He regarded the dog. "Done."

She gently stroked the puppy's back, giving him another grin. "So he rode on the plane with you and Max and your friend the whole way here?"

"Well, this is the friend that rode with me and Max. There is no one else."

"Very sneaky, Mr. Hart. Sneaky, but sweet." She leaned forward and kissed him.

"I have my moments." He smiled.

"There's just one problem. I already got you a wedding gift." She bit her lip. "Would you like to see it?"

"But it's not our wedding day. Won't we stir up some curse?"

"That's the wedding dress, not the wedding gift. You already gave me the dog. It's my turn for a surprise."

"I don't know. The last time you gave me a surprise in bed…"

"Was just a few hours ago and I heard no complaints." She gave him a wink. "Indulge me, please? I'll be right back. I need to go downstairs and get it." She kissed him once more and placed the dog in his lap.

Jonathan held the puppy in his arms and looked around Jennifer's bedroom.

"You know what, Freeway? We're the only men to ever spend the night in this room. That's something, huh? I bet that many tried before us. But we're the lucky ones. And too bad for them, 'cause they've lost all chance now. Isn't that right, Boy?"

Jennifer returned shortly with a large manila envelope and a smile.

"Now hold up. What's with you and the manila envelopes?" He held up a hand in protest.

"I happen to know for a fact that the contents of this envelope will make you very happy. It's not wrapped yet, though. I'm sorry. I hope you don't mind." She crawled back in bed. "Trade ya?" She held out the envelope and motioned for Freeway. Jonathan placed the puppy in her lap and took the envelope from her hand.

"Now before you open it, there's something I'd like to say."

"Okay." He looked into her autumn eyes.

"Sometimes opportunities come around that are just too good to pass up. Opportunities that might normally be discussed with one's significant other. Like Freeway, for example. You and I agreed that we'd pick out the perfect dog together, right?"

"Right."

"But an opportunity presented itself and you took advantage of it, knowing in your heart that it was the right thing to do and that I'd be happy with it in the long run, right?"

"Yes…"

"Well, you and I had discussed doing some things together when we returned from our honeymoon. But, an opportunity presented itself to me and I took advantage of it, even though it was something we discussed doing together. I decided to go ahead with it because I felt in my heart it was the right thing to do and I know you'll be happy in the long run."

"Are you gonna let me open this or not?"

"What I'm trying to say is that I love you so very much, Jonathan, and I can't wait to be your wife. I never thought I'd ever be this happy. This is from me to you, with all the love in my heart."

"Aw Darling, I love you." He leaned across and gave her a slow, tender kiss. "Now?" He asked, glancing at the envelope.

"Now." She nodded.

Carefully, he opened the clasp and reached inside. He pulled out another envelope, addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Hart.

"Another envelope?"

"Keep going." Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

He opened the second envelope and found a neatly printed invitation. His eyes filled with tears as he read it.

 _You are cordially invited  
To the Dedication  
and Ribbon-Cutting Ceremony  
In honor of  
The Hirszberg-Hart Library  
Mission Street Children's Home _

_San Francisco, CA_  
 _Reception immediately following  
The Four Season Hotel _

"Oh my God! Jennifer…" His voice cracked as he read the invitation a second time.

"Are you surprised." She whispered.

"How did you do this?"

"Well, I thought about it that night after we found out. I was lying in bed and thinking about all those books. Those books are what really brought the two of you together. Books are what really brought us together. I thought that this was the memorial you both needed."

"It's perfect. It's absolutely perfect."

"I decided to keep it a secret by keeping your mind headed in another direction with the scholarship fund—which is still a great idea, by the way."

"So the library is inside Mission Street?"

"Well, it's a little expansion project. It should be finished up by the time we return."

"But how?"

"I don't just sit around all day while you're at the office."

"So was your father in on this too?"

"Well he had to be."

"You're amazing, you know that?"

"I know." She gave him a good-natured smile.

He reached and touched her cheek. Inside her eyes, he could see them. All the Jennifer's in his heart. The Jennifer in the airport, the Jennifer on the plaid blanket, the Jennifer on the dance floor, the Jennifer in his pajamas, the Jennifer in the silver frame. She was so many women—all beautiful, all desirable, and all his to love.

"How do you do it?"

"What?"

"Make me feel so damn good."

"I'm just that good." She leaned toward him, rubbing her nose against his.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer carried her shoes, walking in bare feet across the patio. Jonathan's jacket draped neatly around her shoulders, she hummed as the she danced around by herself in the moonlight. _Just twenty-four hours and I will be Mrs. Jonathan Hart,_ she thought to herself with a smile. The day had flown by: the last minute errands, spending the afternoon with Patsy, the rehearsal, and the dinner. The last night she would spend as Jennifer Edwards. She looked around at her mother's garden. The large canvas tents and white chairs stood at attention, waiting for the happy faces of their guests. Smiling, she couldn't be more proud, thinking of how wonderful her father had been in giving her the wedding of her dreams. Cinderella went to the ball, found her prince, and would be meeting him at the end of a red carpet in less than a day. Hearing a noise behind her, she quickly turned around.

"Hi Daddy." She smiled.

"Where's Jonathan?"

"He's taking Freeway for one last walk."

"It's getting late, my dear. Big day ahead. I'd say you need your beauty sleep, but you can't possibly be anymore beautiful than you are right now."

"Thank you so much for all this."

"All what?"

"All this…" She motioned to the garden. "I feel like a princess in a fairy tale. You've done so much for me and given me so much. How could I ever begin to thank you? There are not enough days left in this lifetime."

"You can thank me by being happy and joyful for the rest of your days. Maybe one day you'll have a daughter and you can do all this for her. It truly is more blessed to give than to receive, and I have loved being able to give this to you." He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "I want to say these things to you tonight, because I don't know if I'll be able to tomorrow. I know that when I see you in that dress, I'll be back in Paris with Suzanne on my arm."

"Pa, I love you so much. You don't have to say anything. Just don't let go." She pulled him closer, hugging him as tightly as she could.

"I'll never let go, my darling girl…I'll never let go." He smoothed her hair back with his hand and kissed her lovingly on the forehead. After a minute he pulled away, giving her a sweet smile. "Now, one last thing before we go to bed." He reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. "One more wedding present." He said, handing it to her.

"But Pa, you've already given me so much. This wedding. The house!" She shook her head.

"But this one isn't from me. It's from your mother."

"Mom?"

"You mother wrote this letter to you just before your eleventh birthday. I was given explicit instructions to deliver it to you the night before you married. And it's almost midnight, so you'd better take it. I want to keep true to my promise." He placed it affectionately in Jennifer's hand, wrapping his hands around hers. "If I could trade places with her, I would. You need her so much more than you need me."

"Pa, that's not true." She could feel the tears building in her eyes. "That's just not true." She whispered, as the tears slid silently down her cheeks. Stephen took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped her tears away. He wrapped his arms around her once more and they held each other in a silent embrace.

"I'm sorry that she can't be here with you, Darling. I'm so sorry."

"She is here, Pa. She is here." Jennifer whispered through tears.

"I never meant to neglect you after your mother died. You've always been the most important thing in my life." Stephen hugged her tightly; tears making trails down his own cheeks.

"I know that. And you didn't neglect me." Jennifer pulled away, looking directly into her father's eyes. "You are the best part of me. You made me smart. You made me strong. And you taught me how to survive."

"You taught me a few things too, you know." Stephen smiled.

"I love you very much."

"I love you too, Darling…and I always will." He hugged her again.

Jonathan rounded the side of the house, stopping short. He stood silently in the shadows, watching as Stephen held Jennifer. Taking a deep breath, he studied her—the beautiful, vibrant woman who constantly intrigued him. No matter the role: the playful gypsy, the tomboy with a heart of gold, the temping seductress. She was always engaging and exciting. And now she shined as the little girl in Daddy's arms. Smiling, he closed his eyes for a moment in the hope of remembering the scene forever—her last night as Daddy's girl. He waited quietly for several moments, watching the two of them until Stephen turned and walked into the house. When she was alone, he slipped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her neck.

"Hi Beautiful." He whispered.

"Did you get Freeway all squared away for the night?"

"Yes I did. Max says to tell you sweet dreams _._ "

She let out a heavy sigh.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"I just got a taste of my own medicine and I'm not sure I like it."

"What are you talking about?"

She turned to face him, holding up the letter. "My first late night envelope." She fanned herself with it.

"From your father?"

"No." She paused a moment, glancing down at her bare feet. "From the grave."

"What?" Jonathan shook his head, confused.

"It's a letter. From my mother." Jennifer sighed again. "My father said she wrote this to me before I turned eleven and that he was to give it to me the night before I married."

"Wow. Talk about unexpected."

"I don't think I can read it."

"Do you want me to read it?"

"Would you?"

"Of course." He draped his arm around her shoulder, leading her across the patio to the French doors. "I have to tell you one thing though before we go in."

She stopped and faced him. "What's that?"

"You are so lovely." He lightly ran his hand across her cheek. "And you constantly amaze me." He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "Tonight was the greatest night of my life. I just want to look at you for a minute and take it all in because as wonderful as this night has been, I know that it will quickly be replaced by tomorrow night. And I can't even believe how lucky I am, knowing that everyday it's just gonna get better and better." He pulled his jacket from Jennifer's shoulders and reached inside the inner pocket. "Now then, one more treat before bed." He pulled out a small, black velvet box. Smiling, he held it up in front of her. "How does that old saying go? Something old, something new, something borrowed…" His voice trailed off, and he tapped his finger against his temple.

"And something blue." She smiled back.

"Ah yes, something blue." He snapped his fingers with a smile. "I've always thought that the _something blue_ part was a bit tricky." He handed the tiny box to Jennifer. She looked at him, shaking her head.

"You are incorrigible." She smiled as she slowly opened the box. Inside, she found a pair of sapphire and diamond earrings.

"Jonathan…" She turned the box toward the French doors to gain better lighting. "These are absolutely stunning."

"I can't very well have my wife parading around her own wedding with naked earlobes. And besides, you know what your naked earlobes to do me anyway…I'd never make it through the ceremony."

"I've never worn sapphires before. They are so beautiful."

"They are, aren't they? I just love the way they bring out my eyes." He grinned, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Your eyes?" She smiled.

"A September wedding should have the September birthstone represented in some manner."

"You've got to stop doing this, Jonathan."

"Doing what?" He wrapped his arms tightly around her once again.

"This!" She held up the box. "All these little _treats_ , as you call them. I'm going to be very spoiled."

"That's the whole idea…"

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer curled up next to Jonathan in her bed. Her hand was shaking as she opened the envelope. She started to pull the letter from it, but stopped.

"You do it." She handed it to him.

"Are you sure you want to do this right now? Darling, it's really late and you haven't stopped all day long."

"If I don't this, it will be calling my name all night long." She gave him a look.

"Alright." He pulled the letter from the envelope. He unfolded it and stared at the words. "Houston, we have a problem." He started.

"What?"

"It's written in French." He handed it back to her.

"Oh, of course. I wasn't thinking."

She looked down at the letter in her hands. Her mother's handwriting was just as she remembered. _Could she really have written this all that many years ago?_ Jonathan leaned over and placed his hand on top of the letter.

"I think it's best that you and your mom have some one-on-one time."

"But—"

He pressed his finger over her lips. "Your mother's waited a long time to talk to you. And I think its best that she has you all to herself. Now tell me good-night."

"I love you."

"And I love you." He held her face in his hands, kissing her in that same dangerous way that made a piece of his heart fall away in an elevator. He stood and walked to the door of her bedroom, turning around one last time.

"Good-night, Ms. Edwards." He winked.

"Good-night Mr. Hart." She smiled, blowing him a kiss.

"You know where I am if you need me. And I don't lock my door." He blew a kiss back.

"Maybe you should."

Quietly, Jonathan tiptoed out of her room, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the letter. Without reading it, she flipped to the last page—and her mother's signature. Seeing it there immediately brought tears. She returned to page one and began reading.

 _My Angel Girl,_

 _It's hard to believe that I'm sitting here, watching you while you sleep, and you are just two weeks away from your eleventh birthday. Yet, when you read this, it will be with the eyes of a woman. Seeing you here in your bed, with that gorgeous hair fanned out across your pillow—what a vision you are! And how did you get so big? You're so long! I remember the first night you slept in this bed. Your father was so worried that you would get lost. You were just this tiny thing floating in a sea of pillows and stuffed animals. And now here you are, my beautiful Darling girl all grown up and about to start a new chapter in her life. I know that as I write this, somewhere in the world is a young boy who is already dreaming of you. A boy that will grow to be the man to make all your dreams come true. And I hope that as you are reading this that you have found him and are happy beyond explanation. He will love you for so many reasons. You have absolutely no idea the depth of your beauty, your inner strength, your quiet grace. He does not stand a chance because he will look into your eyes and will lose himself from the very start. Will he be tall? Will he be blonde? Is he a quiet man? Perhaps he's a horseman. Perhaps he's a sailor. None of that really matters, as long as he loves you beyond reason._

 _When your father spoke to me that first time, I knew. There was no hesitation. Our eyes met and it was over. We were lucky. We didn't have to work at it. It just was. And it still is. Despite everything, we still are that young man and girl smiling at each other through the window of a Parisian flower shop. After all this time, when he looks at me, it's still with those same eyes full of brand new love. Your father is my tall, thoughtful horseman. He's the jovial storyteller to the world, but deep inside is another person. A person that's reserved just for me. And it's with his quiet, knowing love that I know I can make it through the day. With just one look or one touch, he sends me back to that very first day. He makes me laugh, and sometimes he makes me cry. But above everything else, he makes me feel. To really love someone is to feel everything through that person—love, lust, joy, jealousy, hatred, sorrow, fear. I pray that your man will make you feel in ways you never have before. When you've cried for him, given your body willingly to him, rebuked him in silence, and prayed to God to forgive you for doing so with a vow that you'd give up anything for him, then you have truly known what it is to love. When I feel lost, your father is my compass. When I feel tired, he is my pillow. When I feel thirsty, he waters my soul. These are my prayers and hopes for you, my darling—that the man you've pledged your life to will water your soul everyday._

 _I want you to know that I am with you always—especially on your wedding day. Wherever you are—whether on a beach or mountain top, standing in an English garden or on the steps of a cathedral—just look up, and whatever you see, there I'll be. The sunshine on your face will be my smile. The clouds in the sky will be my prayers. The wind in your hair will be my arms around you. And should the sky turn dark and begin to rain, just keep smiling, my precious girl because those will be my tears of joy. I love you more than you will ever know. How blessed I have been to hear you call me mother. To feel your tiny arms around my neck. To taste your sweet baby kisses. To know that despite what the world thinks of me, that you will love me no matter what. The joy you have brought to me and to your father cannot be written, cannot be sung, cannot be expressed with words of any kind. Your joy is a life force for which there is no description. You exist, and therefore I am filled with immeasurable joy._

 _I read a poem many years ago about mothers. The first line began with the words, "Precious is she that gives life, not once but a thousand times." I think about these words every time I look at you. I may have brought you into this world, but you have given me life a thousand times over. Every look, every touch, every kiss, every smile, every tear, every frown, every secret, every laugh, every dream…everything. And now you will share all the everythings I hold so dear with someone who I pray will love you as deeply as I._

 _God be with both of you, my Angel Girl. Enjoy every precious moment of your new life. And if your father is by your side, give his hand a squeeze and whisper these words for me: Today, Tomorrow and Always._

 _All the love I can give,  
Mom_

 _XXXXXXXXXX_

Patsy stood behind her, carefully adjusting the train of Jennifer's gown.

"Pat, its fine." Jennifer turned and gazed out the window. The sun was shining. She smiled, thinking of the letter and her mother's secret code. Down below, just a handful of white chairs remained vacant. She could see Archer and Diane being escorted to their seats beside Sarah and Michael. _It won't be long now…_

"I feel like I'm the bride here. I'm a nervous wreck and you're fresh as a daisy. Not even breaking a sweat? How can you be so calm?"

"Because I've waited my whole life for this."

"No butterflies whatsoever?"

"Well, just this one tiny little one." Jennifer confessed.

"May I come in?" Stephen knocked lightly and called from the hall. Jennifer took a deep breath and smiled at Patsy.

"Come on in."

He stood in the doorway, as if frozen.

"My God…" Stephen was at a complete loss as he looked at his daughter. Patsy gave Jennifer a quick hug and turned toward the door.

"I'll be downstairs." She said with a wink, giving the two of them privacy. Stephen pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.

"Now don't start. I will not have you ruining my makeup." She smiled.

"Jennifer Claire Edwards, you are beyond words." He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket as he approached her. He gave her a light kiss on the cheek, then stood back to observe her more.

"What? This old thing?" She glanced at her reflection in the mirror then gave him a grin.

"Darling, the only _old thing_ that'll be hanging on you this evening is me."

"Have you seen Jonathan yet?"

"Yes, I've just come from the guest house. He and Max are walking a hole in the hardwood floors. Nothing but constant pacing. I offered to fix them a drink, but they refused."

"Oh sure, get the groom and the best man all liquored up before the ceremony."

"Just a nip to calm the nerves." He winked.

"You're packing, aren't you?" She held out her hand.

"Moi?" He answered innocently.

"C'mon." She motioned. "Give it up."

"Jennifer..." He shook his head.

"I mean it." Again she thrust her hand in his direction.

"This is madness." He rolled his eyes.

"This is necessary." She gave him a firm look.

Reluctantly, Stephen reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small, silver flask. Jennifer took it from him, examining the neat monogram engraved on its side.

"Well, at least you went with something classy." She sat it down on her dressing table and turned back to face him.

"It's just one little martini."

"If you're a good boy, you can have it back at the reception."

"I'm not arguing." He put up his hands in a show of surrender.

"Crates full of Dom and Chateau Margeaux, and you're still sneaking in your own stuff." She shook her head.

"I never claimed to be an equal opportunity drinker, my dear." He gave her a look.

"Is Jonathan really nervous?" She changed the subject.

"Not nervous. Anxious. He's been sitting around the guest house in his tuxedo since about three o'clock."

"What?"

"He didn't want to be late."

"How's Max?"

"Max is ready to go too." Stephen glanced down at his watch. "Well, my darling, it's time."

"Let's do it." Jennifer began to gather up her gown.

"Wait. There's something we have to do first." He moved close to her, taking her hands up in his. "Now that you're graduating, it's time to move the tassel." He reached down and slipped the pinky ring from Jennifer's left hand and positioned it neatly on the right.

"I guess from this point on, I'll be your _Right Hand Man._ " He smiled sweetly at his daughter, as more tears found their way to his eyes.

"Yes you will." She felt the tears in her own eyes. "Today, tomorrow and always _._ "

XXXXXXXXXX

The door slammed shut and the limousine pulled out from the circular driveway.

"Who started this brilliant tradition of throwing birdseed?" Jennifer flipped her head over, shaking it and running her fingers through her hair. Just as she straightened up, Jonathan caught her, kissing her neck as her hair fell down around his face.

"Let's make some new traditions." He whispered with his husky voice.

"Now, now…patience, my dear…patience."

"Patience is a virtue I can do without at the moment." He took her hand, kissing each finger one by one. His lips traveled up the length of her arm, to her chest and neck.

"But Jonathan, we're in a limo."

"I know. So much roomier than Ava." He worked his magic on her special spot.

"Now wait. Aren't you the slightest bit curious as to where we're going?" She forced herself to take a deep breath, but knew she was about to give in.

"Is it bigger than a bread box?"

"Yes."

"Does it have a bed?"

"Yes."

"Will you be there?"

"Of course." She laughed as his kisses continued to tease her.

"Then it's good enough for me."

"Jonathan!"

He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her deeply. She could taste the champagne on his tongue, mixed with wedding cake. Though all his kisses made her weak, there was something about this one that was different. Something sweeter. Something better. They'd never make it to their wedding night destination. Her father had taught her to be strong and savvy, but he never counted on Jonathan Hart. She knew she was helpless as she reached for his bowtie. A knock came from the front window of the limo. Jonathan pulled back and smiled, holding her gaze as he pressed the intercom button on the door.

"Yes?"

"A Mr. Brennan left something for the two of you in the bar cabinet." The driver responded.

"Thank you."

"A gift from Max?" She smiled.

"Probably the bill for taking care of Freeway while we're gone."

He flipped on the light, then reached and slid the door to the bar cabinet open. There sat a neatly wrapped box. Jonathan handed the gift to Jennifer. She slipped the card from under the bow and read it out loud.

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hart.—_

 _Gee, just writing that is strange. Nice, but strange. Anyway, I want you to know how happy I am for both of you. I wish you nothing but the happiest days to come. I feel so blessed that the three of us will be making memories together (four, counting Freeway)._

 _I realize there's nothing I could possibly buy you that you don't already have or can't get on your own. So I decided to go the sentimental route. Let's just keep that in the family, shall we?_

 _Love,  
Max_

"Isn't that sweet?"

"Let's see what the sentimental route led him to." Jonathan pulled the bow off the box and opened the lid. Inside he found two smaller identical boxes, wrapped in famously familiar blue paper. A small white silk bow adorned each one.

"His and hers boxes?" Jonathan handed one to Jennifer.

"From Tiffany's?" She gave him a look.

They opened both boxes simultaneously, finding they contained matching sterling silver key rings—each bearing a shiny new house key.

"Keys to the kingdom." Jennifer held hers up. Upon closer inspection, she noticed an inscription on the back of the key ring. "Oh Jonathan, look…" She read the inscription then showed it to him.

 _"Let there be light…_ " He read aloud.

Jennifer paused and looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Not exactly the quote I'd have figured from Max."

Jonathan smiled; an air of reflection in his eyes. "Actually, that's exactly the quote I'd have expected."

XXXXXXXXXX

The drive from her childhood home to the bright lights of DC seemed to take only minutes, as bride and groom replayed every moment of their wedding. Only a handful of invites had been declined and they'd hated to leave the grand party that was still very much in full swing. It had been a perfect day, with the weather thankfully cooperative. They'd exchanged their vows before a gathering of nearly three hundred. Yet standing together under the tent at dusk, it was just the two of them. And now they sat side by side, husband and wife, taking in the late night beauty of the nation's most powerful city.

The car slowed down, and the majestic Capitol building glowed ahead of them. Stephen had instructed the driver, per Jennifer's explicit request, to take in all the sights—every famous monument and memorial that could be view from the window of a limousine.

"So where are we going exactly?" Jonathan inquired.

"To our hotel. But I need to make a stop first, if that's alright." She tried to fight back a grin.

"Where?" He questioned.

"Bookstore." She answered flatly.

"A bookstore? It's almost eleven thirty."

"Well, it's not really a bookstore...it's more like a book palace." She winked.

The car continued, making a right turn from Constitution Avenue onto East Second Street. From his window, Jonathan could see the Supreme Court building. He knew just about every major city in the US like the back of his hand. Except this one. Craning his neck, he scanned the area for clues.

The limousine slowed once more, turning onto a service drive behind an enormous stately building. The driver proceeded cautiously, as the barricade in front of them was lifted. They drove into a dimly lit underground garage, where they were met by an grey haired gentleman in a smart, dark suit.

"This is it." She smiled and looked up at him.

The driver opened the door and the strange man greeted them with a slight bow.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Hart. If you'll just follow me." He turned on his heel and led them with a brisk gait to a service elevator. Jennifer said nothing though the smile she wore spoke volumes. She gripped his hand tightly and in less than a minute, they found themselves on the main floor of one of the most impressive buildings in all of Washington.

The man offered little in the way of conversation and they quietly followed him, stopping briefly to admire the grand architecture until at last they arrived at the entrance of one of Jennifer's most favorite places on Earth.

"Surprise." She gave his hand a squeeze.

Together they stood, still dressed in their wedding clothes, at the entrance of the main reading room. The ornate, domed space glowed, illuminated by only the tiny reading lamps housed on the dozens of library table circling the room. Jonathan had no words, and all he could do was shake his head as he silently explored his surroundings. He'd visited great palaces and castles all over the world, and yet he'd never witness the beauty of the place where he now stood.

"This is the Library of freakin' Congress, Jennifer." Jonathan studied the ceiling, completely amazed.

"Yes, I know. Pretty impressive, huh?"

"But how?"

"I've still got a little pull in this town." She winked.

XXXXXXXXXX

Though their unexpected detour had been brief, Jonathan didn't mind. As touched as he was by her surprise, complete with a champagne toast in the Great Hall of the Jefferson Building at midnight, he wanted nothing more than to hide away from the world with his wife.

It was a quarter to one by the time Mr. and Mrs. Hart made it inside their bridal suite. The choice in hotels had been an easy one and the view of the White House from the private balcony was rumored to the best in the city.

"Oh my!" Jennifer commented upon entering. An enormous four poster bed filled the room, dressed in beautiful linens and surrounded by gorgeous antiques. Bouquets of fresh roses, in every color imaginable, rested on every flat surface. Not one, but dozens of tiny votive candles danced around them. A large oil painting of General Robert E. Lee hung over the bed, making her smile and think of Tara. She couldn't resist the urge, failing back on the bed with a satisfied sigh.

Jonathan slipped his tuxedo jacket off and dropped it on a chair. He returned to the bed, leaning casually up against the bedpost with his hands in his pockets. Jennifer sighed, then pushed herself up on her elbows, looking up at him.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm looking."

"No, I know that look. You're staring."

"New rule. When you're dressed, I'm looking. When you're not, I'm staring."

"Is that so?" She bit her lip.

"From now on." He nodded.

"Well, then what do you say to a staring contest?" She smiled.

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Because I just want to look at you for just a minute, just like this, and remember how gorgeous you are, lying here in your wedding dress. You're like an angel on a cloud."

She could see the meaning of every word he spoke reflected in his eyes.

"Jonathan, don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because, Rhett, I believe I shall faint." She held her hand up to her forehead, channeling her inner Scarlet.

"I want you to faint." He crawled up beside her. "This is what you were meant for." He whispered, tracing the neckline of her dress with his fingers.

"Please tell me this is not a dream." She whispered back.

"It is a dream, but one that we're never waking up from."

The soft layers of her hair, falling in red ribbons across a crisp white pillow. The creaminess of her skin. The ripples of ivory French silk. She was almost too beautiful to touch. Lightly he ran his hand along rows of beads on the bodice of her gown. Watching his own hand as it moved across her, he had only one thought. _How blessed and cursed to be a man_. To struggle with the desire to dominate versus the delight in restraint. A struggle that brought him to the place he yearned to remain forever. He wanted her—to feel every part of her against every part of him. But yet at the same time, to possess her would be bittersweet, knowing that just the very thought of it was enough to capture him.

He reached for her hand and they stood together—silent souls existing for one, true moment. He could still hear their vows—whispers of holy loving promises that would bind them together. To rush this night would be to step inside a beautiful cathedral, ornate and divine, and forget to pray. Their hands took turns on the buttons of their wedding clothes as they slowly undressed one another. Their bodies had exchanged the experience before. But now, seeing her and knowing that she was truly his made him want her as he never had before.

There in his eyes, she saw everything, as if the past and the future were right there with them. They stood in silence, knowing words would break the covenant. She looked up him and her eyes cast a net that ensnared every part of him. He swept her up in his arms and placed her gently on the bed. He took his place beside her, knowing he was not long for the earthly world. Knowing that in moments, she would carry him away to a place she saved just for him. Her innermost room. A place of secrets and promises. A place of restoration for his soul.

Light hung like a veil around them and he studied her in the soft glow. As he fell deeper and deeper, as his lungs betrayed him, he was filled with something he needed more than air itself. _Jennifer, Jennifer._ Her name echoed over and over inside his head. He'd never needed anyone and now he was a drowning man. His lips on her skin. His hands in her hair. He held her on a plaid blanket. He chased her through a hotel lobby. _I'm lost…I'm lost without you._

He saw her there—laughing as the wind blew through her hair with her arms draped across the paddock railing. A faded photograph now brought to life. His thoughts were flooded with her image, and his body could no longer contain him. And the curse of being a man—made of human flesh, gained control. The lights of his inner cathedral dimmed and his prayer ended. Pulling his body onto hers, he willed himself to stop and wait. She held his hips, guiding him in soft, gentle waves. As his breath was replaced with hers, the longing grew stronger. Looking down at her, seeing her floating beneath him, giving herself to him upon the sweetest of tides, his own well overflowed and a single tear fell from his eye, splashing in silent motion upon her chest.

She caught her breath; afraid to speak. Closing her eyes, she could see every moment of their journey, suspended in time. The ebb and flow of every word, every look, every touch that brought them to this point washed over her as she drifted farther out to sea. Tears slid from the corners her eyes, sailing down the sides of her face, stopping in shiny droplets in her auburn hair. He held her until they found themselves breathless on a quiet shore. The room remained silent, with just the sounds of breathing around their bodies. They'd spoken not a word, for what they felt went beyond language. The tempest from moments before returned to calm waters and they drifted, wrapped in each others arms.

"Are you really mine?" He whispered.

"Today, tomorrow and always…"

She looked up at him. Inside his eyes, she was lost. Lost in their blue honesty, their pure sincerity. She kissed him again, knowing that she was owned—and praying he'd never release her. They lay together for a long time without talking, still drifting…

"I cannot believe I'm lying here beside you and you're my wife."

"And women around the globe just collectively sighed in disappointment."

"I doubt it."

"The trail of broken hearts is wet with tears tonight." She held up his left hand. Smiling, she studied the gold band on his finger.

"You and my father really know how to throw a party. I've never seen him look more proud."

"He was great, wasn't he?"

She laced her fingers in his, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

"Can I ask you something."

"Of course."

"When did you know? I mean, was there one moment when you knew that this was meant to be?"

He unlaced his fingers and ran his hand up the length of her soft, slender arm.

"One moment?" He continued to stroke her arm. "That's like asking me to pick out my favorite freckle. They're all wonderful and there are so many of them." He leaned over and kissed her chest.

"But when did you first feel it. I mean really start to feel something?"

He thought a moment, running through a collection of happy memories.

"Well, I think when you came out of the kitchen with that oven mitt and the barbeque fork. I knew I was in trouble then."

"Really?"

"I can still see the expression on your face. I can't even describe the way you looked at me. It's always been about your eyes. And then the way you sorta shrugged your shoulders, giving me this little _'I'm not that innocent but I like to pretend I am'_ look. I was done." He smiled, propping his head up on his hand.

"That seems like so long ago but then at the same time, it's like it was just yesterday."

"So what about you? When was your moment?"

Jennifer smiled and bit her lip, thinking back on so many special times. "I think it was in the park when you were laying on the blanket with your eyes closed. I was watching you, and thinking about how wonderful it would be to kiss you."

"So why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I kiss you? Because I hardly knew you."

"But you were thinking about it, right?" He moved closer to her.

"I've hardly thought of anything since." She reached and touched his lips, slowing tracing them.

"What are thinking about now?"

"Well, I'm wondering if General Lee here enjoyed the show." She pointed to the massive oil painting of the Civil War hero hanging above them.

"Good old Robert Edward? Well, he had seven children, so I reckon he knows his way around a bed."

"It's kind of strange to have him staring at us this way. I just keep hearing him say ' _The South shall rise again.'"_

"The South won't be the only thing..." He winked.

XXXXXXXXXX

They were met with light rain when they landed in London. A limousine was waiting to carry them to their hotel. Aside from the destination, the honeymoon plans had remained secret, with Jonathan planning out their entire ten day trip on his own. Though she'd initially protested his choice, he was adamant about showing her _his_ London. Just how much scenery they'd actually see beyond their suite door remained to be seen. They took turns pointing out the sights on their way to their hotel. When they arrived, Jennifer laughed out loud.

"Claridge's?"

"Well, you did write one hell of a chapter about this place, didn't you?"

"Yes I did."

"I thought maybe we could recreate it."

"Can you live without the bed?"

"Beds are strictly for suckers."

The doorman nodded, holding the door open for them. They made their way across the elegant lobby. Jonathan signed the register and waited for the keys to their suite. Jennifer watched him. Everything he did was with an air of confidence. But above that, he treated everyone with kindness and respect. Something about his smile and easy going nature just put people at ease. He was a chameleon—perfectly at home in jeans and boots, closing the most pressing of deals in a custom tailored suit, or stepping out after five in a tuxedo. He was every man, and the only man she ever wanted. A man defined by his strength of character, not by the zeros on his paycheck. The pride she felt for him—to be his wife, filled her. _You exist, Jonathan…and I am filled with immeasurable joy._ She was smiling brightly when he turned around and caught her eye.

"You're staring, Jennifer."

"I'm looking. I'll be staring when we get upstairs." She winked.

Jonathan collected the keys and they headed toward the elevator. "Would you like to have a drink in the bar first?"

"You know, I think I'd like to skip the cocktail hour, if that's okay."

"Already feeling the jet-lag?"

"Actually, I think it was all those late night toasts."

"We couldn't very well waste a perfectly good bottle of champagne." He pressed the button for the elevator. By the time they made it to the suite, Jennifer was not feeling herself. She reached for Jonathan's arm to steady herself while he opened the door.

"Are you alright?"

"I told you. Champagne and I go way back. It's a love-hate relationship. I guess the flight, the lack of sleep, and the time change are all having their way with me." She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

"We have no agenda, Darling. If you want to just lie down and rest, then you do it. In fact, I'm telling you. Go lay down and rest."

"Now just because I'm sporting this ring doesn't mean you can boss me around."

"Go!" He pointed toward the bedroom with a loving grin.

She gave him a salute and turned around. Their bags arrived, but Jonathan had the bellboy leave them in the sitting room. Checking the bar he found a bottle of Scotch with his name on it. He then found the phone and called down for a bucket of ice, a Sprite and a bottle of aspirin. He was ready to relax; his jacket, tossed on the back of a chair and his tie loose around his neck.

He sat down on the sofa and surveyed the suite. He'd stayed there many times, but always alone. Knowing that she was just in the other room, just a few short steps away from him, made his heart beat a little faster. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and thought about waking up with her. Their wedding night had been more than he expected. It had nothing to do with candles or roses or a secret tour of a DC landmark. It was her. Everything was about her. Her eyes, her voice, her smile. A thousand little pieces of Jennifer. A thousand little whispers of love.

A knock brought him back and he stood and walked to the door. He collected the tray from their personal butler with a nod and closed the door. Filling a glass with ice, he poured her soda. Taking it and the bottle of aspirin, he quietly walked to the bedroom. Carefully, he turned the knob, trying to make as little noise as possible. She was curled up on the bed; her hands in the same prayer clasp she always seemed to have when sleeping soundly. The bedroom was much cooler than the rest of the suite. He emptied his hands and crossed to the closet, pulling down a blanket. Returning to her, he slipped her shoes off and covered her up. He stood at the foot of the bed and looked at her. She looked just as she did the first time she took a nap in his bed. The first time he'd taken a nap with someone. Suddenly, he was faced with the same dilemma. He knew he should make a quiet exit, but he couldn't resist her. _Come lay with me_ …she'd said as she held her hand out to him that afternoon. And he'd been helpless. Silently, he pulled his tie free from his collar and slipped in beside her. His hand slid in between hers after pulling the corner of the blanket up on him. A battle of wills between his lips and his mind ensued, but his lips won. Tenderly, he kissed her forehead.

"You know something?" She whispered with her eyes closed. "You never could let me rest…"

XXXXXXXXXX

It was noon the next day when they finally emerged from the suite and made it back out to the streets of London. Though she said she felt better, Jonathan could tell that she wasn't one hundred percent. He decided not to push her, and that they'd just enjoy the day at a snail's pace.

Jennifer loved London. It was one of her favorite places, despite the fact that some painful memories hid in the shadows. But she knew that with Jonathan as her tour guide, she'd now experience London as she never had before. A taxi was waiting for them downstairs and they decided to grab lunch first. As they crossed the lobby, they were greeted by an attractive young brunette.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Hart." She extended her hand to them both.

"Good Afternoon." Jonathan nodded.

"My name is Lydia. I want to personally welcome you to Claridge's." She said with a charming British accent.

"Nice to meet you." Jennifer smiled.

"I hope you're enjoying your honeymoon thus far."

"We are. Thank you."

"And is everything satisfactory in the Davies Suite?"

"It's beautiful."

"Well, please don't hesitate to call on me if I can assist you in any way during your stay."

"Jonathan!"

He and Jennifer turned at the sound of a man's voice from behind them.

"Jackson!" Jonathan shook the man's hand. "What a surprise."

"And this must be the lovely _Mrs. Hart._ " He offered Jennifer his hand. "Congratulations."

"It's Jennifer."

"I'm sorry that we were unable to attend your wedding. But we've been here in London planning our own."

"Really?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, our youngest daughter." He smiled at Jennifer. "If your wedding was anything like your bride here, then wow!"

"Thank you." Jennifer smiled.

"Listen, I'm on my way to meet the girls right now. But I'd love to get together later. Would you be up to a celebratory toast say around five? I know that my wife would love to meet you, Jennifer."

She exchanged a quick glance with Jonathan.

"What do you say, Darling?" He asked.

 _Time to play the perfect corporate wife._ "I think that's a wonderful idea. It's a date." She shook hands with him again.

The wait at the restaurant was longer than they expected, so they decided to hang out in the bar. Jonathan ordered his signature Scotch, but Jennifer thought it best to stick with something light. The bartender placed a glass of Glenlivet and a bottle of Perrier in front of them. They sat enjoying their drinks and the view of the Thames until they were called to their table.

The weather had improved. The rain was finally gone. They sat outside, watching as ferry boats carried tourists along the famed river. Jonathan remembered his dream of kissing a beautiful woman on a ferry.

"Are you up for a boat ride later?"

"Maybe tomorrow. I still don't have my sea legs yet."

"You're still feeling bad, aren't you?"

"I'm just tired. I haven't slept very much over the last week, and it's all catching up with me. I'm sorry. I think just one more night of sound rest, and I'll be good to go." She gave him a look, knowing full well that Jonathan's idea of bed had little to do with sleep.

"Well, the river will be here tomorrow."

They decided to spend the afternoon enjoying some of the historical treasures that London had to offer. Their first stop: The British Museum. Jennifer's love of archaeology and anthropology made it one of her favorite places. Jonathan made her laugh with his own account of the various artifacts and antiquities on display. He made everything a game, and her cheeks hurt from smiling. From the museum, they took a taxi to the only remaining residence of one of her favorite authors—Charles Dickens. They journeyed back to the Victorian era as they explored rare editions and manuscripts of his work. After examining all four historic floors, she was spent. Jonathan checked his watch, seeing that the cocktail hour approached.

"We should get back to the hotel if we're going to meet Jackson and Samantha."

He signaled for a cab. Once in route, she snuggled up close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. She remembered her passage of a cab ride from a loud, smoky club to a dark hotel room and she moved her hand on his thigh. He'd made their entire afternoon special. Smiling, she gave his leg a squeeze and he rested his hand on top of hers. The ride back to Claridge's was quiet. And by the time they arrived, Jennifer had fallen asleep on his shoulder.

"Darling, we're here." He squeezed her hand.

"Already? That was fast."

"I wore you out."

"It's not the first time." She gave him a naughty grin. "You thought you were bringing your bride to London and ended up with a narcoleptic."

He laughed. "It's hardly that bad." He nodded at the doorman and they headed for the elevator. Once inside their suite, he couldn't resist an appetizer before cocktails. He'd had little tastes of Jennifer here and there throughout the day but he needed one good long kiss.

"Do you have any idea how crazy I am about you?" His lips lightly brushed against hers as he spoke and his arms wound tightly around her waist.

"Show me…" She whispered with a smile. He bent to kiss her, but stopped when someone knocked on the door.

"Hold that thought." He turned back to the door.

"I'm sorry to bother you sir, but a gentleman left this for you a couple of hours ago." He handed Jonathan a note, along with a bottle of champagne.

"Thank you very much." Jonathan nodded. Closing the door, he gave Jennifer a look. "Who do you suppose this is from?"

"I don't know. But if they knew how I was feeling, they would have never sent this." She took the champagne from him, leaving it on the bar. Jonathan opened the note.

"It's from Jackson."

"Oh? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah. He says he has to cancel, but to enjoy ourselves nonetheless. Says he'll ring us in the morning, and maybe we can try again before they leave."

"Well, that was very thoughtful."

"We'll keep it on deck. Maybe you'll feel like champagne later." He walked around the sofa to where she stood. In his eyes, she could see a plan in motion.

"Now then, where were we?"

She grabbed his arms, wrapping them around her waist.

"I believe we were right about…here." She pressed her lips against his. All the playful kisses they'd shared that day had been a teasing prelude to this moment. Once she felt his hands in her hair, she was glad that Jackson had cancelled—no way were they gonna make it now. Not for drinks, maybe not even for dinner. Her hands quickly found the buttons on his shirt.

"Do you think the floor is more comfortable or less comfortable than the bed?" He whispered in her ear.

"What's wrong with this sofa? It's nice and much more convenient."

With both hands, he gave her a light push and she fell back onto the sofa, laughing. He sat down on the edge beside her. Her smile was playful and warm. _Just when I think she can't look more beautiful._

"That's one of the things I love most about you. You're so damn practical _._ "

 **TBC**

 **Review until your heart's content!**


	13. Chapter 13

They found themselves on the terrace, once again overlooking the Thames as they waited for a table. Feeling refreshed after hours in his arms, Jennifer joined him in the first of several drinks. She was feeling better and ready to make up for lost time. They'd just ordered their second round when they were called back inside. Jonathan followed behind her; his hand on the small of her back. It was just something he did. And something she loved. He had a very protective air when it came to her. _Though they might not admit it, every woman wants to be taken care of...at least a little bit._

"You know, this place reminds me of that Tex-Mex restaurant."

"It does?" He sounded surprised.

"I guess because it looks like one thing on the outside, but it's something totally unexpected on the inside. Not many pubs have white linen on the tables."

"Now that was a night, huh Pollyanna?"

Jennifer laughed. "I'd forgotten about that. But looks like Pollyanna made good. I ditched the chair and landed the man."

"Wasn't that was the night you told me that cock and bull story about your tattoo?"

"I'm a writer, Darling. It's what I do best."

"You're a con artist, Darling. _That's_ what you do best."

They sat enjoying their dinner in no hurry whatsoever. They played the Celebrity Twin game, spotting a young Robert DeNiro and a blonde Julia Roberts. Jennifer laughed uncontrollably as the waiter placed a third drink in front of her. They'd occupied their table for two hours, totally unaware of anyone else's existence.

"What do you say to a new version of Do, Dump or Date?" She took a sip of her drink.

"Listen, you better slow down. I don't want to have to carry you outta here."

"I'm perfectly fine. Now are you in?"

"What's the new version?"

"Well, you still have to give three famous people, but they have to share either the same first name or the same last name."

"Okay, ladies first."

She continued to sip her drink, running through a mental list of famous faces. After a moment, her eyes lit up.

"Joan Crawford, Joan Rivers, and Joan of Arc."

He smiled at her, thinking. "Ah yes…the three Joans. Much better list than before. Much more challenging."

"Take your time."

"Well, I think I'd have to dump Ms. Crawford right of the bat. No wire hangers ever. Better dump Joan Rivers too. Just can't go there. I'll be happy doing and dating the young French heroine."

"Wrong. You can't dump Crawford and Rivers."

"Okay, I'll dump Rivers. For one night, I can submit to the hanger." He smiled. "Now it's my turn."

He knew it was a silly game that meant nothing. But he couldn't deny how their playful banter turned him on. She could get inside his head. She was sharp and her wit was unmatched. She understood him—sometimes better than he understood himself. They could share in conversation or they could converse without words. It didn't matter. They spoke their own language and they had since that first afternoon. _The brain is definitely the most sexual organ_ , he thought to himself.

"I got it. Bob Hope, Bob Dole, and Bob Barker."

Jennifer couldn't hold in her laughter. "Gee thanks! At least I threw you a bone with Joan of Arc."

"What? By letting me sleep with a foreign assassin? Some favor."

"She was canonized as a saint."

"I like my women hot, but not burned at the stake. And I ain't lookin' for saintly." He flashed his perfect smile. "Now then, I'm ready to hear your ultimate Bob fantasy."

"I was kind of thinking more along the lines of Bob Redford."

"The more attractive side of the Bob coin?"

"Exactly."

"Not this time. Now do you give up or what? 'Cause if you do, I win again."

"I'm not giving up." She looked at him, trying to remain serious, but failing miserably. Jonathan smiled and nodded, humming the Jeopardy theme song.

"Tick, tock, Jennifer. Time's up."

"I guess I'd dump Bob Dole. I've had enough of the DC political scene. I'd date Bob Hope. He's a legend and he could help me with my golf swing. Then I guess I'd down a pitcher of martinis and hop in bed with Bob Barker…Lord help me."

"What? That would be great! The chance to be one of Barker's Beauties?"

"You could've given me someone from this century at least."

"But think of all the combined years of experience. Such an education to be had."

"And dinner at four everyday."

Jonathan motioned for the check. It was getting late, and now he was starting to feel the effects from lack of sleep. It had been another perfect evening. Being with her made everything right.

"Joan Rivers or Joan Crawford? Who'd you pick for a one night stand, Chief?" Jonathan asked the young waiter as he signed the credit card receipt.

"Joan who, sir?"

"Never mind."

Jonathan ushered her through the dining area, again with his hand safely positioned on her lower back. They were just inside the bar when she felt her sea legs go back out to sea. She grabbed his arm.

"Jennifer?"

"Wait just a minute."

"The third drink?"

"You got it."

"Just hang on to me."

"I should hit the ladies room before we go."

"Can you make it?"

"I think so."

"I'll get us a cab then I'll come back for you." He watched as she turned on shaky legs and headed into the crowded bar. Jonathan watched for several moments until he felt she was alright then continued on to the front door.

Inside the restroom, Jennifer looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sinks. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes quite glassy. _I should know better_. She washed her hands and quickly reapplied her lipstick. _It's all fun and games until you stand up._

Back in the bar, she shuffled through the crowd. She felt pity for the poor souls who were raising their glasses repeatedly. _They won't feel so chipper in the morning. And neither will I._ She looked for Jonathan, but didn't see him. Suddenly, the lights went out and she stood in complete darkness. She reached up and tried to pull his hands down from her eyes, but he held fast.

"Darling, that's not funny." She laughed.

"You never called _me_ Darling, but I like it." He whispered. From the moment his voice touched her ear, she turned completely sober. He released her and she turned to face him.

"Elliot?"

"Hello, Jennifer. You look surprised."

"Shocked is more like it."

"I thought that was you…just a moment ago…" He pointed over his shoulder toward the restrooms.

"Yes, well, we're just leaving."

"You're here with someone? Patsy?"

"No, my husband."

Elliot whistled. "A married woman? Well, congratulations. I didn't know."

"Thank you." Her tone was sharp.

"Now don't run off. I'd like to meet him. Let me buy you a drink at least."

"I don't think so. It's late."

"Oh c'mon. Just one little drink…for old times."

"I'm sorry Elliot. Not this time."

"Well, next time for sure." He paused a moment; his eyes running up and down the length of her body. "You really look good, Jennifer. I hope he's treating you well."

Her mind searched for something pleasant to say. Something polite and lady-like and mannerly, but found no such words. Hundreds of vulgar, offensive comebacks came to mind. _Is he really worth it?_

"We're very happy. Now, really, I must go."

"It was great seeing you again."

The bartender called her name from behind them. "Mrs. Hart?"

"Yes?" Jennifer turned around

"You have a phone call. You can pick it up on the phone around the corner." He motioned to an area just outside the bar.

"Thank you." She turned back to him. "I need to get this call. Goodbye, Elliot."

He reached to touch her hand, but she'd walked away too quickly. Around the corner from the bar, she found the hostess station.

"I was told I have a call." Her heart was pounding inside her and she could feel her cheeks burning.

"Help yourself." The hostess pushed the phone her way. She lifted the receiver.

"This is Jennifer Ed—Hart."

"Hi Beautiful." He stood right behind her, his breath tickling her ear. She hung up the phone and turned to face him.

"You didn't just do what I think you did?" She shook her head.

"I did." He nodded.

"How long did you—"

"The whole time. I saw everything."

"And you thought it would be fun to just stand back and do nothing?"

"No. I thought it would be fun to stand back and watch my smart, strong wife hold her own."

"But you've never even seen Elliot. How did you know?"

"I know a wolf in designer clothing."

"I can't believe you…" She folded her arms across her chest, giving him a stern look.

"Oh c'mon…" He wrapped his arms around her, but she pulled away. "You can't resist me." He took a step toward her.

"Don't be so sure, Buster." She placed one hand firmly on his chest in an attempt to stop his advance.

"Well then, how 'bout one last kiss?"

"Why?"

"Something to remember me by."

"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that if you kiss me I'll get all mushy. I can see it in your eyes."

"I'm not thinking that." He shook his head, stepping closer to her. "I know you're stronger than that."

"You bet I am. There's a lot of ice and steel in here when I want to show it…ice and steel." She pointed to herself with a nod. He pressed his body against hers, and she took a deep breath. He kissed her tenderly; his lips warm and comforting. _Safe at last…_

"Zero. Nothing." She tried to remain composed.

"You love me. You can't get along without me. You're crazy about me."

"You have been mildly amusing to be with from time to time."

Again, his lips found hers and her resolve grew less and less.

"You'd love me no matter what." He spoke with his quiet husky tone. Just his voice alone was enough to make her drunk.

"I could break your heart anytime I wanted to."

He reached and touched her cheek. His eyes held that same expression of longing and love that captured her heart in a hospital elevator. He kissed her without holding back—and the bar grew silent as she fell over the edge.

Looking up at him, she couldn't help but smile. "What the hell? Everyone deserves a second chance."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan closed the suite door quietly. He refilled her glass with fresh ice and poured another Sprite. With the newspaper tucked under his arm, he tiptoed back to the bedroom.

"Here you are. And I brought you the paper."

"More sprite? I don't think I can…"

"You have to drink something. You have no fluids left."

"Why did I do this to myself? You should have stopped me."

"Like that was going to happen. After you slayed the Manning Dragon last night? You were ten feet tall and bullet proof when you strutted outta there."

"I did not strut."

"Well, you _sashayed_."

"But it's your responsibility to keep an eye on me, remember? When I went for that champagne bottle…"

"Hey, I tried. I told you it wasn't a good idea to change horses in the middle of the rodeo."

"Yeah, well…"

"Do you want to try and eat something?"

"Please don't mention food or I'll be back in the bathroom." She held her hand over her mouth.

"Well then, you have to drink this. You're going to get dehydrated." She could hear the worry in his voice.

"I'm so sorry. I haven't been the best traveling companion."

"I told you before. It doesn't matter if we stay locked up in this suite for the entire trip."

"Yes, but—"

"I just want you to feel better. London won't be closing any time soon. And besides, the only attraction I'm really interested in seeing is you."

"I love you, you know that?"

"I know."

They spent the day curled up together in the king size bed. It was like a lazy Sunday afternoon only in the middle of the week. They traded time between the paper and the television. Jonathan ordered room service, but ate alone. He begged her to eat something, but she refused. She kept him somewhat happy by sipping her Sprite. Around three o'clock, she fell back asleep. For the first time, he carefully slid out of bed and left her to rest by herself. Jonathan read a little, but quickly grew bored. He decided to give Max a call. As he pulled his cell phone from his jacket, someone knocked. He flipped the phone closed and walked quickly to the door, afraid that a second knock would wake Jennifer.

"Jackson!" Jonathan shook his hand.

"I hope I'm not bothering you."

"Not at all. Please come in."

Jackson stepped inside the suite and Jonathan closed the door without a sound. "Where's that beautiful wife of yours?"

"I'm afraid she was injured last night. She's resting right now."

"Injured?"

"She had a run in with a well meaning bottle of Champagne—and lost."

"Ouch. I guess I'm to blame for that."

"Hardly. We really appreciate the gesture though. Thank you."

"Well, I stopped by to see if you'd like to join us in a bit but I'm sure the inside of a bar is the last place your wife wants to be right now."

"Rain check, then?"

"Absolutely. We'll be here until Friday. And if it doesn't work out, then let's plan on dinner when you get back home."

"That's a promise." He walked him back to the door.

"We'll be down in the bar with our daughter and her fiance at five, if you change your mind."

"Thanks."

The man made his exit, and Jonathan retrieved his phone. Max picked up on the second ring.

"Hart residence."

"Hart residence? Isn't that a little formal? What happened to your standard greeting of 'Joe's Pool Hall, it's your shot'?"

"How's Jennifer and merry old England?"

"England is still merry, but Jennifer is not."

"What happened?"

"She went toe to toe with three cocktails and an undisclosed amount of champagne."

"You can't change horses."

"That's what I told her."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan jumped when he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Oh I'm sorry. I didn't know you were asleep."

"I didn't either. I just dozed off for a minute. What time is it?"

"It's almost five."

"You feeling better?"

"A little."

"Ready to eat something?"

"I don't think so."

"Jennifer, you have to eat something. Anything. Just name a food, and I'll go get it."

"Nothing sounds good."

"You're not making this easy."

"I'm sorry." She snuggled up against him on the sofa, tucking her legs under her. "What have you been doing this whole time?"

"I talked to Max."

"How is he?"

"He and Freeway are fine. And Jackson stopped by. He apologized for the unsportsmanlike conduct of the bubbly."

"You told him?"

"It's no big deal. Besides, we're old friends."

"Great! Now he'll think you're married to some drunk."

"I doubt it. He knew enough to know that you wouldn't care to hang out with them in the bar today."

"He invited us for today?"

"Yeah. He and his wife are having drinks with their daughter and her fiancé at five. They asked us to join them, and that's when I explained about your condition."

"You should go."

"I'm not going without you."

"As a member of Hart Industries, I'm advising you to keep the corporate door revolving. The man asked you, and you should go."

"You're not officially a member yet."

"Then as your wife, I'm telling you. You've been stuck in here with me all day. Go stretch your legs. Have a drink, meet the family, then you can come right back up."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Of course not."

"But—"

"Listen, let's make a deal…"

"So now you're the dealmaker?"

"You go enjoy yourself and I promise to eat something. I'll call down and have something sent up while you're gone. Deal?" She handed him his jacket. "And if any Kirkley Dragons are waiting down there, you know what to do."

"I learned from the best." He said with a salute. "If you need me, I can be back up here in a minute."

"I'll be fine." She kissed his cheek.

"I love you."

"I love you too. Have fun." She closed the door behind him and headed straight for the phone.

"This is Lydia."

"Hi Lydia, this is Jennifer Hart in the Davies Suite."

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Hart. How may I assist you?"

"I'm not sure if you'll be able to help me or not. It's a rather odd request."

"Well you're in luck, because I happen to specialize in odd requests."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan put his key in the door quietly. It was six thirty, and he hadn't planned to be gone so long. He carried a large bouquet of flowers inside, placing them on the coffee table next to the remains of a dinner tray. _Good girl…_

"Darling, I'm back." He called.

"Be right there." She called back.

"I see you ate dinner. Thank you!"

"Hi." She entered wearing his robe.

"You didn't take a shower without me, did you?"

"Plenty more showers to come."

"I brought you something." He pointed to the flowers.

"They're beautiful. You didn't need to do that."

"I wanted to. And that's why I'm so late getting back." He kissed her, running his fingers through her wet hair.

"Well, I have a little something for you too."

"You do? You went out?"

"No, I sent out. Lydia helped me."

"Lydia?"

"The hotel manager."

"Oh right. What is it?"

"Well, you have to pick a pocket." She slipped her hands inside the pockets of his robe.

"I'm guessing it's still not golf clubs."

"No, smaller than golf clubs. Much smaller."

He pointed to the left pocket. "I'll take that one."

"You're sure?" She asked.

"I'm sure."

She pulled out a small white stick, handing it to him with a smile.

"What's this?" He took the object from her. It took him a moment to recognize what it was.

"Jennifer, is this what I think it is?"

She bit her lip. "Yes it is…"

"So you're…"

"Pregnant. I'm pregnant." She smiled.

"Are you sure?"

She pulled her right hand from the other pocket of his robe and handed him an identical stick.

"I'm absolutely sure." She gave her stomach a pat. "You, me, the Kid here…instant family."

XXXXXXXXXX

"I really think we should fly back home in the morning." He softly rubbed her back as they lay together.

"And do what once we get there? I'm fine. We still have a week. Let's just enjoy being together. We only get one honeymoon." She looked up at him, immediately recognizing that look. "Oh no…"

"What?"

"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"If I thought you babied me before…" She rolled her eyes.

"Well, weren't having my baby before."

"Are you really happy?" She sat up and faced him. "Tell me the truth. I know we didn't plan this. We've never really even talked about it."

"Jennifer," He sat up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "don't you know there's nothing I want more in the world than to have a family with you? To have a little you to love? Don't you see? The fact that we didn't plan this makes it that much more special. We've been given a gift. A perfectly beautiful wedding gift."

"I'm scared." She reached and nervously fingered the gold chain on his neck.

"We're supposed to be scared. But just think about how much love there is between us. This baby is so wanted and so loved." He rested his forehead on hers and she couldn't hold it in. The tears returned and she felt her heart overflowing with the honesty of his every word. The very words that expressed everything she felt inside her own heart. _What could I possibly have to fear? I am taking a journey with a man who is totally devoted to me and now, to this baby. Our baby. Our sweet baby._

"What's my father going to say?"

"If you thought he was bad planning a wedding…"

She laughed. "You are so right."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer sat staring out the window of the plane, lost in thought. A smile on her lips, she was both anxious and excited to be returning home. An unexpected twist of fate had brought her closer to Jonathan than ever before. The brand new journey of their married lives now had a stowaway and she couldn't stop thinking about the tiny little life growing inside her. He glanced over the top of his newspaper and watched her silently. He wasn't able to watch her long before she spied his eyes on her.

"Let me guess. You're just looking." She said with a grin.

"I am looking but I'm thinking about staring."

"We'll be landing soon. Let's not start a staring contest yet."

"Actually, I wasn't really thinking about staring. I was trying to settle a dispute in my head."

"A dispute? About what?"

"About you."

"A dispute about me?"

"Well, I was just looking at you and trying to decide. Are you so incredibly beautiful because you're pregnant, or are you pregnant because you're so incredibly beautiful?"

"That's your dispute?"

"It's a legitimate question." He dropped the newspaper on his lap and leaned toward her.

"So do you have any theories about this so-called dispute?" She smiled.

"Not yet. But I'm sure that whatever the answer, it'll require lots and lots of research." He kissed her and his hand found its new special spot on her stomach.

"Well, I know how thorough you are, Mr. Hart." She gave him a wink.

"See there? There it is again." He shook his head.

"What?"

"Another question. Are your lips so delicious because I'm in love with you, or am I in love with you because your lips are so delicious?"

"It doesn't matter, because my lips are completely controlled by your lips."

"And that's why you can't resist me, huh?"

"Exactly." She smiled at him, patting his hand with her own. "Now listen, Max will be waiting for us and I know we've discussed this already, but I have to say it again."

"I know, I know…" He rolled his eyes.

"You and I both know that a secret of this magnitude is really pushing it where you're concerned."

"I can handle it. I promised at the hotel. I promised in the elevator. I promised in the taxi. I promised at the airport, on the runway, in this cabin…"

"Then say it again."

"I promise that I won't tell Max or your father or anyone else until we've been to see the doctor. Happy?"

"You're sure?" She looked him squarely in the eye.

"Scouts' Honor." He raised his right arm.

She cocked her head to one side, giving him a look. "You'll never make it."

"Wanna bet?"

"The odds are stacked against you. Look at Freeway."

"That was different."

"If you want to lose then fine, let's bet. But no tattoos."

"Just give me a while to think about it. I want it to be something really good, because you're going to lose."

"I've already won. I have you and him." She pressed his hand firmly against her stomach.

"You mean her. It's a girl." He smiled.

"Un uh, I mean him. It's a boy."

"You keep saying boy. What makes you think that?"

"Call it mothers' intuition."

"You've been pregnant now for what? Ten minutes? And already you're acting on mothers' intuition?"

"Just wait. You'll lose again."

"No I won't." He pulled her closer. "I have you and this beautiful little baby—boy or girl. No way can I lose now."

The sun was setting as they made their way home. Jennifer had pulled double duty—planning a wedding and preparing their new home. Jonathan had given her free reign, but she'd solicited his help constantly. He had an eye for the classic, tasteful, and refined. Max made few requests—a nice big bar and a well stocked kitchen. All the bedrooms were large and luxurious, but they agreed to give Max the downstairs master suite. He'd argued relentlessly, but Jonathan and Jennifer remained united, refusing to give in. "But I'm only here for the winter months. It makes no sense to take the best room in the house." But after conferring with Dr. Walsh and Sarah, it was decided that staying close to Los Angeles might be the best course of action for Max—at least for a while.

The few remaining items from the bachelor apartment were delivered without incident during their honeymoon, and Max and Freeway had been living in the house for the past week, with Barbara to keep them company. Max was walking around, managing without the walker most of the time. But driving still was not an option. Perhaps by Christmastime, the doctor had said. When they pulled up to the front door, Max and Freeway were waiting for them.

"Welcome home!" Max smiled, with the dog in his arms.

"You look great Max. Just great."

"Can I help you?"

"No, we got it." He collected their things from the trunk, then he and Jennifer exchanged hugs with their elderly friend.

"You think you were busy before the wedding. You should see the loot that waiting for you. I've never seen so many wedding presents in all my life. Looks like Santa's workshop in there." He winked at them.

"Well, it'll have to wait a couple of days, until we're back on west coast time."

"And it's not just gifts, Mr. H. There's champagne, flowers, more champagne."

"I'll pass on the champagne." Jennifer caught his eye.

"Oh yeah, sorry. Listen, you had a delivery while you were gone. Something really big. It's in the garage."

"In the garage? How big is it?" She asked.

"It's big. Too big to bring inside the house." Max winked at Jonathan.

"But I didn't order anything." She shook her head.

"Maybe it's another wedding gift." Jonathan smiled sweetly and Jennifer recognized his guilty look immediately. "C'mon, maybe Santa left you some golf clubs."

He winked back at Max and took Jennifer's hand. They walked around the side of the house, fingers laced tightly together.

"What have you done now?" She asked as he opened the side door.

"You'll see." He flashed his winning smile again.

Flipping on the light, Jennifer gasp. There in the middle of the garage sat not one but two identical convertibles—his and hers—complete with matching bows.

"Jonathan Hart…" She was speechless.

"You didn't think I was going to let you walk around Los Angeles."

"You. Are. Incorrigible."

"So you like 'em?" He smiled again.

"They're fantastic. But I don't even think my driver's license is current. I haven't driven in forever. I haven't owed a car in years." She walked around, inspecting the cars from all sides.

"We'll hit the DMV this week and you'll be all set."

"There's just one thing. Where's Ava?" She asked.

"Yeah, I was gonna tell you about that. It's over between us. We broke up right before the wedding. She's very jealous, you know. It would have never worked. Besides, I'm not her type anymore."

"You mean the 'I'm-a-well-to-do-aging-executive-trying-to-hold-on-to-a-piece-of-my-storied-youth-by-driving-around-town-in-a-Porsche' type?"

"That would be the one." Jonathan opened the passenger door and flipped the seat forward with a puzzled look.

"Something wrong?"

"Well, yes. No room for the kid." He flipped the seat back in place, looking disappointed.

"Big on style but short on baby space?"

"'Fraid so." He sighed with frustration.

"We have plenty of time to sort that out. But I love it. I love them. And you must stop with all these surprises."

"Never!" He pulled her close and kissed her. "Welcome home, Mrs. H." He whispered before kissing her once more. "Now, let's see how she fits." He led her around to the driver's side door, opening it with a bow.

"Thank you, sir." Jennifer slipped in behind the wheel. She took a quick inventory of the interior before turning back to him.

"It's a perfect fit. As Baby Bear said, it was just right." She smiled up at him.

XXXXXXXXXX

With Barbara's help, Max surprised them with a wonderful dinner. Though he'd set the table for two, they insisted he make another place for himself. Jennifer watched Jonathan's eyes carefully—certain that he'd slip any minute and reveal her pregnancy. But he never did. They laughed, sharing stories from London, reliving the wedding, progress on the house, and Freeway. Jonathan smiled when he felt Freeway nudge his leg. He looked down and patted his head. This is what it's all about—family, he thought. My beautiful wife, my best friend, my faithful mutt, and an angel on deck. He gave Jennifer a knowing smile, taking her hand in his. She knew from that one look that their secret was safe. She knew that no matter what, with her hand in his, she'd always be safe.

They sent Max to bed and cleaned up the dishes before heading up themselves. It wasn't late, but they both were exhausted. Freeway followed behind them, as if this had been his routine for years. He found a spot underneath Jennifer's most prized possession—an escritoire she'd inherited from her grandmother. Curling himself into a perfect little ball, he closed his eyes.

"Well someone feels right at home?" Jennifer nodded toward the dog.

"As long as he's not on the bed. That's for you and me only."

"Until I have a large protruding belly between us." She smiled.

"An incredibly sexy belly." He bent down and kissed her flat stomach.

"You say sexy now, but you might not think so when it looks like I've swallowed a watermelon."

"A watermelon or a monster truck, you will still be sexy."

"We'll see." She gave him a look as she began brushing her teeth.

They slipped into bed and into each other arms, listening to the sounds of their new bedroom. _I'm a city mouse in the country_ , he thought, listening to complete quiet. Jonathan reached and turned on the radio, and the soft sound of smooth jazz filled the air around them. Lightly he stroked her bare arm, thinking about the baby that would be joining their perfect union.

"We're having a baby." He smiled and hugged her closer to him.

"It's miraculous, isn't it?" She whispered.

"It sure is."

"I can't stop thinking about."

"And from now on, we never will."

"He's gonna look just like you, I just know it." She lightly drew circles on his chest with her finger.

"She might look just like her mother."

"I never thought this would happen, Jonathan. I didn't think I would ever have a baby."

"Why not?"

"Because I never really saw myself as very maternal, I guess. My mother was incredible. The perfect mom. I guess I just never thought I could live up to her. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true. She did more and taught me more in eleven years than most mothers do in a lifetime."

"And that's the reason you'll be such a fantastic mom. You had the best teacher."

"Yes, but I don't cook, or bake, or any of those traditional mom things."

"And how many moms today look like super models? Not many. You're anything but conventional, and your mothering will reflect that. You will be the hottest mom at the playground, I have no doubt." He looked down at her.

"Hottest mom? You think I should aspire to be the hottest mom?"

"What? Some moms cook in the kitchen, some moms cook in the bedroom."

"And you call me hopeless?" She gave him a look.

"I'm not hopeless. I'm honest."

"You're a mess." She sighed, shaking her head.

He rolled her onto her back; his gold chain lightly brushing against her chin.

"And you wouldn't have me any other way."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Hart, you are indeed pregnant. I'd say just beginning your eleventh week." Dr. Sumner gave them a huge smile.

"Eleven weeks already?" Jonathan looked at Jennifer. "That would mean…"

"That you were sampling more than wine in Napa." She gave him a playful look.

"You missed two periods, is that correct?"

"Yes, but I also had major surgery, remodeled a house, began a philanthropic building project in San Francisco and planned a wedding all within the last several months. I thought initially that I skipped because of stress. Then I started feeling extremely tired."

"The classic first symptom. Now today, we'll do a full work up. Complete medical history, external and internal exams, along with an ultrasound. The urine test provided us with the proof, but we'll also need to draw blood to confirm things like you Rh factor, certain immunities, and so forth—all standard procedure. If everything looks alright on today's ultrasound, we won't do another one until the twentieth week. At that time, we should be able to determine the baby's sex if the fetus is cooperative in positioning and you two have the desire to know."

"I'll already know." He shot Jennifer a look.

"Making wagers already? I must tell you, I've been in this business for twenty-two years and the moms beat the dads two to one on guessing the sex. So just be prepared." He gave them a good-humored wink.

"Do you have children of your own?" Jennifer asked him, trying to decide his celebrity twin.

"Yes, I have four daughters. One in every step of the educational system. College, high school, junior high and elementary."

"Well, you can't be more qualified than that." He looked down at her.

"And did you and your wife make any bets along the way?" She asked him again.

"We sure did and I lost every time. The last one really cost me—a week in Maui. I thought for sure the forth time would be the charm and I'd get myself a fishing partner. But God knows what he's doing. My baby girl can cast like no man I know. She just carries a pink tackle box."

After the physical exams were complete, Jonathan helped Jennifer up and they strolled down the hall to wait for the ultrasound. Dr. Sumner would be joining them after the results were ready, but the actual procedure would be with a technician. They sat alone and waited, neither saying a word. After several moments, Jonathan spoke.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Is this really happening?"

"There's a baby in there." He whispered, pointing to her stomach.

"I know!"

The technician entered, smiling and extending her hand to them to both.

"Hi there! I'm Elizabeth. I'll be turning your baby into a movie star for you today. Dr. Sumner will join us in a bit. He's in with another patient." She sat down on a small rolling stool beside the examination table. "This technology is very effective and we should be able to see the fetus even though it's no bigger than a cherry at this stage. Any questions before we start?"

Jennifer shook her head and looked at Jonathan. "Darling?"

"No, I'm ready."

"Good. Let's get started."

The technician turned the lights down and typed information into the ultrasound machine. Jonathan resumed his placed beside Jennifer; his fingers laced tightly in hers.

"Now I just want you to try and relax as much as possible. You will feel some pressure from the probe, much like during a regular exam. Just keep breathing, and we'll get some great shots."

Jonathan and Jennifer watched the monitor intently, unsure exactly what they would see. Then, they saw it—a tiny little mass, swimming and moving and kicking.

"Now that's one beautiful baby, don't you think?" The technician smiled as she talked them through what they saw on the screen. "All of your baby's vital organs have been formed and are starting to work together. Fingers and toes have begun to separate and the little tadpole tail has disappeared now. All your baby's internal organs are developing, along with the formation of tooth buds inside the mouth."

"How big is he?" Jennifer asked.

"About an inch long, weighing just a few grams. A tiny little peanut."

"It's so strange to watch all the movement because I can't feel a thing."

"But you will and the first flutters are the best."

"So does everything look good? Healthy, I mean." Jonathan asked.

"Everything looks great. Let's print out some pictures. Never too early to start that photo album." She continued to enter more information into the machine and within moments, several black and white images emerged. Just as they were done printing, Dr. Sumner entered.

"How's it look?" He smiled at the technician.

"Just as you predicted. Right on target with your due date." She handed the scans to the doctor.

"These look good. What a photogenic baby you have. I'm sure the Easter Bunny will have a special treat for this baby." He gave them another smile. "I think you have nothing but an uneventful, textbook pregnancy ahead of you—the best kind to have."

Jonathan extended his hand to Dr. Sumner. "Thank you so much. We're really excited."

"Just be sure she takes her prenatal vitamins, gets plenty to eat and plenty of rest."

"I'll see to it." Jonathan nodded.

"Now when you leave, you'll be given a goody bag filled with all sorts of information. The do's and don'ts of the next few months. Please read over everything, and give us a call if you have any questions. And if something doesn't feel right, call us. You know your body better than anyone, so listen to what it has to say."

"I will. Thank you, Dr. Sumner."

"Our receptionist, Gina, will set up your next appointment on your way out. I'll see you back here in four weeks."

Inside the elevator, they rode hand in hand down to the parking garage. They spoke no words, but shared the sweetest of conversations with their eyes. He swung her arm back and forth as they walked to the new car. Just as she reached for the handle, he caught her hand and turned her around to face him.

"I have never been happier than I am at this moment in all my life. I am so in love with you and this baby and I'm telling you right now, you can have the bet. I just want to tell everyone."

"It's a miracle. A wonderful, magical miracle. One you can't quite grasp until it happens to you."

"I love you so very much."

"And I love you…both." She touched his cheek, and kissed him tenderly. They stood holding each other in the quiet parking garage. He could feel her body begin to shake, and he knew her cheeks were wet with tears. Pulling away, he gave her a smile; his eyes now filled with tears too.

"This baby is so lucky to have you."

"We're both lucky because we have you."

Jonathan took several steps back away from. He continued to hold her gaze, lifting his arms up and shouting in joyful declaration to the city around them.

"I am so in love with this beautiful woman and now we're having a baby!"

XXXXXXXXXX

The house was quiet when they entered the front door. Only a single lamp was lit in the living room. No sign of Max or Freeway. They'd made a stop at the bookstore to pick up a book and a pregnancy calendar. By the time they'd made it back to the car, Jonathan had purchased six pregnancy guides, two calendars, three baby name books and a stack of children's books.

"It's awfully quiet in here." Jonathan commented.

"Maybe they're in the kitchen." She suggested.

"I think I'll just run these up to our bedroom." Jonathan carried the two large shopping bags upstairs as Jennifer continued on to the kitchen.

"Hey you're home. Did you have a nice afternoon? Get all your returns and exchanges taken care of?" Max asked.

"Yes we did. Hello Barbara. What a nice surprise."

Max and Barbara were seated at the breakfast table—hoagie sandwiches and a deck of cards between them. She was a regular fixture around their house—taking care of Max post aneurysm and stroke. Now, in addition to being his nurse, she was one of his dearest friends and most ruthless poker buddies.

"How was your honeymoon?"

"It was lovely. I almost forgot that tonight's poker night. What time are the guys coming?"

"Actually I cancelled. Barbara and I are just going to hang out and watch TV and work on our bridge strategy. We're playing in a tournament in two weeks."

"I hope you didn't cancel just because we're home from London."

"Cancel what?" Jonathan strolled into the kitchen, picking up the end of the conversation.

"Max cancelled poker night." Jennifer answered.

"What's wrong Max? Feeling a little light in the wallet?" He smiled at Barbara.

"It's not that. It's just that…you know. The guys…you know how they are."

"Well Barbara's not a guy…"

"Thank you, Jennifer."

"You're welcome." She nodded at Barbara.

"Max, what's up? You haven't cancelled a poker game in years. Maybe ever—aside from being hospitalized I mean."

"Well, I thought that maybe you and Jennifer might like some privacy. You know, peace and quiet."

"Max, this is your house. We want to continue with your poker games just like always." Jennifer reassured him.

"Well, I thought that under the circumstances…" his voiced trailed off and he looked at Barbara.

"What circumstances?" Jonathan asked.

Max let out a sigh. "Dr. Sumner's office called this morning right after you left...to confirm your obstetrical appointment."

Jonathan and Jennifer traded looks. Neither could contain their laughter.

"Why is it that I never get the chance to surprise you?" He asked Max, shaking his head.

"So are you two?" He pointed his finger back and forth between the two of them.

"Yep." Jennifer smiled.

"That's wonderful. Congratulations!" He stood, giving each of them a big hug.

"Now listen. My father does not know yet. He's coming out here for the library dedication and we want to wait and tell him then."

"My lips are sealed."

"Congratulations you two." Barbara stood and hugged them affectionately. "What a lucky little baby to have you for his parents."

"Did you say _his_?" Jonathan gave Barbara a look.

"Oh yeah. Y'all are having a boy. No doubt."

"I'll take that action. I say they're having a girl." Max looked at Barbara.

"You're on." She offered her hand and they shook firmly.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jennifer, wake up. You're having another bad dream. Jennifer…" Jonathan held her shoulder.

Jennifer opened her eyes and looked up at him; her body shaking with fear.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"It's just after six. You were crying out but I couldn't understand what you were saying. You were talking gibberish. My God, you're so sweaty." He quickly crawled out of bed. He returned in a moment with a fresh hand towel and a glass of water. "Here." He watched as she drank down the entire glass of water in hasty gulps; her hand still shaky as she held the glass. He took the empty glass from her, placing it on the bedside table. Gently, he sponged her forehead with the towel as she lay back on her pillow.

"Thank you." She whispered with a weak smile.

"Now what on earth happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." She looked down, avoiding his eyes.

"Why not?"

"It's too awful. I can't believe that I'd dream something like that."

"Elliot?"

"Worse."

"Just tell me. I know it will make you feel better." He smoothed her hair out across her pillow. Immediately, she felt safe with just his one simple but loving gesture.

"I left the baby in the car."

"What happened?"

"I was back at my old elementary school. I was watching these kids on the playground from my car. I got out to go and play with them. I was gone for hours and it was really hot. When I got back to the car, I realized that I'd left her in the hot car." Jennifer's body started to shake and the tears could not be controlled.

"Aw Darling…" He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. Slowly, he rocked her back and forth trying to help her tense body relax. "It's okay. It was just a bad dream."

"I would never do that, Jonathan. You know I never would."

"Of course I know that. And I know exactly why you dreamed what you did." He gently laid her back on the pillow.

"You do?" She looked up at him with glassy eyes.

"Think about it. Dr. Sumner talked about his youngest daughter in elementary school. I said you'd be the hottest mom on the playground. We talked about the fact that there's no room in the convertible for a baby. It all got twisted around inside your brain."

"That makes sense, I guess."

"See there? I told you if we talk it out together, then it'll be alright." He smiled sweetly at her, brushing her hair off her forehead.

"But it was so real. She was the most beautiful baby. And she died." Jennifer could feel her throat closing as the words left her mouth.

"Jennifer, it was nothing more than a bunch of conversations getting contorted in your subconscious. And besides, you said that baby was girl, right?"

"Yes."

"We're having a boy, remember? Mothers' intuition and all that?"

"You're just trying to make me feel better."

"That's my job." He rubbed his nose playfully against hers.

"I've seen this baby one time, and I'm already worried sick about it. Now I know why my mother insisted on walking me to the front door of the school when I was in fourth grade. Fourth grade! No one's mother walked them to the front door in fourth grade. It's all makes perfect sense now."

"Suddenly your mom just moved up a few notches on the intelligence scale?"

"Suddenly I see why she was so protective. She couldn't help it. I won't be able to help it either."

"Nothing wrong with being an overprotective mother. There are worse things in the world."

"Such as?"

"Being an overprotective father." He winked.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Good Morning." Jonathan strolled into the kitchen.

"How'd you sleep?" Max sat at the breakfast table, working on his second cup of coffee.

"Fine."

How's Jennifer?"

"Fine. I just came down to get her some juice and a piece of toast. I don't want her passing out while she's in the shower."

"Morning sickness?"

"No. She's only been sick one time. And it had nothing to do with the baby."

"The rodeo in London?"

"Bingo."

"Well that's good. I just can't believe you're having a baby."

"I still can't believe it myself."

"So you're okay with it?"

"Okay? Have you seen my wife? What man wouldn't be okay with it?"

"That's what I thought. I just never heard you talk about children."

"We didn't."

"So this was a surprise for both of you?"

"Well, yeah…"

"You're gonna be a great father." Max smiled and patted his arm.

"I know I am. I had a great role model." He gave Max a wink.

"You certainly did." Jennifer added.

"I was gonna bring up some juice for you." Jonathan turned around quickly at the sound of her voice.

"I'm alright. I'm not an invalid. Tell him Max."

"She's right. Could beat both of us in a footrace on her worst day."

"Okay, I get the hint."

"Listen, since you're both here, could we talk for a minute?" Max asked.

"Of course." Jonathan glanced at Jennifer, noting a touch of uncertainty in his friend's voice. They sat down at the breakfast table and Freeway joined them, taking his place beside Max.

"I just want to tell you both one more time how happy I am for you. This baby is so lucky."

"We think we're the lucky ones." Jennifer smiled as she reached for Jonathan's hand.

"I've been thinking a lot about it and I think it's time for a few changes around here."

"What kind of changes?" Jonathan asked.

"I think it would be better for everyone if I moved into a senior living facility."

"Max—" Jonathan started, but was cut off.

"Now Barbara and I have talked about it and there's a wonderful complex not far from here."

"You and Barbara?" Jonathan gave Max a look.

"You're newly married and starting a family and the last thing you need is an old man taking up space. I've got no children to be a burden on, and I'm certainly not going to be a burden on you—not with a baby on the way."

"But we don't want you to go. We love having you here." Jennifer looked to Jonathan for support.

"You've been very sweet, but I think you and I both know that you'd rather have your husband and your home to yourself."

"That's just not true. You're a part of this family. I knew that from the word go. If my father and I had lived together, it would be the same situation. Jonathan would've gotten a package deal."

"But the situation is different now."

"Do you want to leave? I mean, are you making this decision based on what you want or what you think we want." Jonathan asked with a serious tone.

"Well…" Max hesitated.

"If we thought this wouldn't work, we'd tell you. You know me better than that. And I know you're a big boy and could take it. But we don't want you to leave—unless it's what you absolutely want."

"We don't." Jennifer added firmly.

Max looked at both of them with fatherly devotion. Other than Sarah, there was no one in the world that meant more to him than Jonathan.

"I am pretty good at changing diapers."

"We don't need you for diaper changes." Jennifer smiled.

"Yeah, there are more important jobs we need you to take care of." He winked at his wife.

"Like what?" Max looked puzzled.

"Like how to read a racing form and whether to hit on sixteen." Jonathan smiled.

"And who better to teach him than his Uncle Max?" Jennifer patted his hand.

XXXXXXXXXX

As Jennifer cleared the breakfast dishes, Jonathan excused himself. Max remained steadfast in his chair, sipping a second cup of coffee and eyeing the sports section of the paper. Jonathan returned to the kitchen momentarily and resumed his spot at the breakfast table. He placed a stack of books in front of him.

"What's this?" Max asked.

"Some books I picked up yesterday."

"They're all the same book."

"Yes, I know." Jonathan grinned.

"And why do you need three copies of the same book?"

"One for you, one for me, and one for Jennifer."

"Lemme see that…" Max held out his hand for a copy. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and read the title aloud. "The Complete Book of Baby Names."

"Here's yours, Darling." Jonathan handed a copy to Jennifer. "Now here's what I'm thinking."

Jennifer and Max traded looks, both rolling their eyes.

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"It's gonna be like the wedding all over again." She smiled at Max.

"Just wait 'til your father gets here." He whispered back.

"The most important gift we'll give this baby is its name. There's no changing it, and it's the first thing people will judge our child by. It's got to be the perfect name. I want each of us to study the names, alphabetically of course, and come up with a short list for each letter. A list of boys names and girls names—'cause no one at this table knows for sure." He shot Jennifer a playful look.

"So I just look for the name that speaks to me? The name that sounds like a winner?"

"Exactly, Max."

"Just like the racing form." He opened the book and began thumbing through.

"I say we pick out our top three for each letter. That'll keep it simple." Jonathan looked at Jennifer.

"With you, nothing is simple." She gave him a playful look back.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _My Little Prince,_

 _I know you're going to be so disappointed if I'm writing letters to a little boy this whole time and it turns out you're a girl. But it won't matter to me, because I already love you in a way that I can't even describe. Your father and I went to the doctor for the first time yesterday to confirm that you really are real. You are real! We saw you! Swimming around inside me like a perfect tiny angel floating in heavenly darkness. I have never seen your father look more proud._

 _Speaking of your father, let me tell you right off the bat how blessed and lucky we are to have him in our lives. I met your father in an elevator at a hospital here in Los Angeles. I saw his eyes and immediately felt a connection. I have a strange feeling that you will have those very same eyes - honest and playful and the most magical shade of blue._

 _Jennifer paused a moment and looked at the three photos before her: the two from the ultrasound, and the photograph of baby Jonathan with his parents._

 _I know that you will be brilliant because you are your father's son. And I won't have to explain the math. I was already expecting you when your father and I married, only we didn't know it. We were on our honeymoon in London when I took a pregnancy test. Two tests, actually. I know your father's a stickler for hard evidence. I'm sure none of this matters much to you but it might someday. I wouldn't be telling the whole story if I didn't mention how surprised and excited we were—how excited we are._

 _You have only one grandparent. My father—Stephen Edwards. He lives in Maryland in the same house I grew up in. You're going to love it there. He raises and trains horses. He doesn't know about you yet. He's coming to visit us in a few weeks and your father and I will tell him then. Only Uncle Max knows and he's much better at keeping secrets. My father will probably take you on your first horseback ride and mix you your first martini. He tries to be a proper English bloke with a stiff upper lip and all, but he's really a pushover. I can teach you everything you need to know where he's concerned. I know all the right buttons to push to get exactly what you want from him. But you won't have to push hard because he's going to be crazy about you from the word go._

 _My mother passed away when I was eleven. She's the most beautiful and courageous person I've ever known. She got very sick and died, but I know she loved me very much. For the first time in my life, I truly understand just how deep her love was for me because that's how I feel about you. My mother wrote me a letter when I was just a girl. I read it for the first time recently—the night before I married your father, in fact. She told me that she loved me more than I would ever know. But now, because of you, I know. Without a doubt, I know._

 _So back to Uncle Max. Your father was raised by him—at least that's who he credits for his upbringing. Now there's a character. You'll learn loads from that man. He was everything to your father and still is. See, your father' was raised in an orphanage in San Francisco - The Mission Street Home. Your Uncle Max became like a dad to your father and they've been best friends and partners in crime since he was a teen. Max is not typical. He's anything but. But the man has a heart of purest gold. I know there's nothing he wouldn't do for your father and me and for you. So really, when you think about it, it will be like having two grandfathers because Max is family. He'll be the one to teach you to shoot craps and he'll take you to your first major league game and the horse races. Max loves a good game of chance, especially if his wallet gains a few dollars in the process._

 _What can I tell you about your father without writing an entire book? Falling in love with him was the easiest, most natural thing I've ever done in my life. Uncle Max and I were in the same hospital and that's how we met. We had a short conversation in an elevator and I couldn't stop thinking about his eyes. Later, we ran into each other in the park across from the hospital and then not long after that, he asked me out to lunch. That was the beginning of a beautiful love story—one that's now brought us to you. Your father is a very smart and powerful business man. Not just here in Los Angeles but in many major cities around the globe. The best part is that you'd never know it. He's down to earth and kind to everyone. I'm sure he's tough when he has to be but fortunately I never see that side of him. He's an incredible story teller and can always make me laugh. I know he'll want to spoil you and this will be my biggest challenge as a parent—keeping him in line. I wasn't quite sure what his reaction would be when I told him about you. We never really discussed having children - not seriously anyway. He was overjoyed. We stood hugging and crying inside our suite at a very special hotel in London. I've never seen him look happier. Wait! Yes I have. When we left the doctor's office yesterday after seeing you for the first time. I know he will make this journey unlike anything I could ever imagine. He loves you so very much and you are blessed to have him as your father. He's a good man. Good in every sense of the word. Honest. Loving. Devoted. Loyal. Generous. Selfless. Jonathan Charles Hart—your father, my husband. The greatest gift we could ever hope for._

 _Well, I've hit the key players for you except for me. Oh, and Freeway. Yes! We have a puppy. You will love him! He's the most precious ball of fluff. He and Max are big buddies. And with you, it'll be the perfect threesome. Your father gave him to me as a wedding present. He's always giving me presents. And he's already buying you presents. We have an entire bag full of his favorite children's books. I think he's planning to read some of them to you now. We both love books, and that's initially what started up our conversation at the hospital. My love of books and words is what led me to becoming a writer. Yes! Your mom is a writer. You probably couldn't tell it though. My thoughts are just all over the place here and not very organized. Sorry! There's just SO much that I want to tell you and share with you and my fingers cannot keep up with my brain. I will try to work on my flow in future writings. Before I met your father, I was living in DC and writing for a magazine. My best friend is a woman named Patsy Erikson. She was also my editor at one time. We don't work together anymore and don't see each other much since we live far apart. But she's one of those timeless friends—the ones that you can pick up the phone and call out of the blue and just when you hear their voice again, it's as if no time has passed between you. Those are the best kind of friends to have. After we tell your grandfather, I plan on calling your Aunt Patsy and giving her the good news. I know she will be thrilled._

 _Well, it's getting late and I should probably turn off the light. Your father is laying here beside me, sleeping peacefully with a smile on his face. I know what he's dreaming about—his little angel boy. Or girl. Either way, you're an angel to us. I want you to know something right from the start: I promise to always be completely honest with you no matter what. There have been things in my past that have been painful and ugly and have led me to make some poor decisions where trust is concerned. I don't want there to be any secrets between us. And I want you to know that you are loved beyond measure by so many people. Your father has taught me so much about love and trust. They're the most valuable lessons I've learned to date. I want to share all that and more with you. That's what family is all about. Love and trust._

 _Sweet Dreams, Precious One!_

 _Love,_

 _Mommy_

 _(I can't believe I just signed my name like that!)_

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Good Morning, Champ!_

 _Dad's Advice: There's no substitute for good manners. Women love it, and the best women expect it. So be vigilant. That means every door, every chair, use the right fork, etc. I'm sure your mom will have more to add later. But the bottom line is: Chicks dig good manners._

 _Mommy is still sleeping. I try to let her rest as much as possible, but it's really hard sometimes. Like I told you before, she's irresistible. Don't worry, you'll find out what I'm talking about soon enough. You won't want to be away from her either. I just finished reading up on your progress from our weekly calendar. I can't believe we're already at fifteen weeks! It says that you're now almost four inches long, and weigh about as much as a letter. You're our little love letter! You've grown so much since we first saw you moving around on the ultrasound four weeks ago. It says that your bones are beginning to get stronger and harder (that's because you're an Hart and we're manly men) and that a fine coating of white hair is beginning to cover your skin. What? Well, now you have something in common with Freeway. It also says that your thyroid gland is fully formed and there's a good chance that you might be sucking your thumb. You are just an amazing little being, you know that?! We're going back to see Dr. Sumner this afternoon, and then we're picking up your grandfather at the airport. He still doesn't know that you exist and I only have to hold my tongue for a few more hours. I think Mommy is proud of me for keeping you a secret. But I have a confession to make. I did tell someone—Deanne, my secretary. I didn't mean to tell her. It just sorta slipped out. I know she won't tell anyone and I threatened to fire her if she did. Deanne has been instrumental in helping me with lots of surprises for your mom, so I'm not worried that she'll slip up. Of course, she said that if you happen to be a girl, you're to be named in her honor. But that's not gonna happen, is it Champ? That's another little secret I've been keeping from Mommy. I've known you were a boy from the start. But, I like playing Devil's Advocate. Actually, I just like playing the devil where you mother is concerned. But in a good way. Uncle Max is in on it with me. He doesn't think you're a girl either._

 _I wish you could see how beautiful a vehicle you're riding around in—the Rolls Royce of pregnant bodies. I thought your mother was radiant before but everyday she glows more and more. She should be the Goodwill Ambassador for Pregnancy. I think she's kind of upset that her clothes aren't really fitting her the same way. She has such exceptional taste in clothes but the woman hates to go shopping. I've never known a woman who hated to shop more than she does. But from what I've read, over the next couple of weeks, she won't have a choice. I think there's a shop near in Beverly Hills that makes maternity house calls. I'll ask Deanne to check into that for me._

 _Well Champ, your Mommy is beginning to stir so I better close and stash this out of sight. These letters are another one of my little secrets. Hey, I'm getting pretty good at this secret business, huh? But there's one thing that I'll never hide from you or your mom or the world and that is how much I love you both. I can't believe that in twenty-five weeks or less, I'll be holding you in my arms. And even though I can't imagine feeling more pride or more joy than I do at this very moment, I know I will._

 _I love you, Buddy!_

 _Pa_

Quietly, Jonathan slipped the letter inside a leather notebook, storing it away in the bottom drawer of this bedside table. He crawled up on the bed beside her and kissed her cheek.

"Good morning." He whispered with a smile.

"Good morning. You're up early."

"I had some work to do. How did you sleep?"

"Fine." She yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

"Today's the big day."

"I can't wait to see his face."

"He's going to cry, which means you're going to cry, which means I'm going to cry."

"I'll throw some extra tissues in my purse."

"How did your mother tell your father?"

"You know something," She sat up in bed. "I don't know. That's one Edwards story I've never heard."

"Well, we'll have to ask him."

"You made the reservations, right?"

"Yes, for seven o'clock. Is that too late for you?"

"No, I'll just eat a snack after we leave Dr. Sumner's office."

"The little Patisserie downtown?"

"How did you know?"

"Puisque, mon chéri... je peut lire votre esprit."

"So now you're a mind reader? In French, no less."

"Whatever it takes to impress you." He found her special spot.

"What time is our appointment?" She tried not to laugh as his lips tickled her neck.

"Not until four-thirty."

"And what time is it now?"

"Eight-thirty."

"And you're not going in to the office?"

"Not when I have unfinished business here." He slipped his hand underneath the familiar pajama top she wore.

XXXXXXXXXX

"It's nearly ten o'clock. I was about to give up." Max pulled a pan of warm scones from the oven.

"I didn't know you baked, Max." Jennifer eyed them with anticipation.

"I don't. But Halloween is just around the corner and Barbara gave me this recipe. They're pumpkin-walnut. They look pretty good."

"How is Barbara? We haven't seen much of her lately."

"She's great. She'll be here tonight for poker."

"My father can't wait. He's been looking forward to a little payback with her."

"Florence Nightingale by day, Nurse Ratchet by night. She's a shrewd one."

"All the regulars on tap then?" Jonathan asked.

"All the usual suspects."

"Well, thank you for including my father. He really had fun last time."

"I'm glad he can view a loss as fun. We're starting up around ten. Will you be home from dinner by then?"

"Should be home well before then."

"Well, don't rush. This is a big night." He sat the basket of scones down on the table. He reached and pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket before sitting down.

"I got my picks. Did you guys bring yours?"

"I got mine." Jonathan slipped his hand inside his jacket.

"Me too." Jennifer waved hers at them.

"Okay, we're up to 'D' now. Mr. H you go first. Start with the boys."

"Well, I was hard choice, but for a boy I went with Daniel, Dane and Duke."

"Duke?" Jennifer laughed.

"Hello? John Wayne fan here. The Duke?" He shot her a look.

"Duke is a name you'd give to your dog, not your son. I like Dane and Daniel though."

"Well, what are you choices?" He tried not to smile.

"I chose Duncan, Denton, and Deacon."

"Those are names of towns, Darling, not children."

"Well I got you both beat. My picks are the best. You guys make this too hard. Just go with the classics."

"Such as?" Jonathan stared at him across the table.

"Dempsey, Dixon, and Driscoll." Max smiled proudly.

Jonathan laughed out loud, slapping the table with his hand.

"What's so funny? Those are my picks." Max looked at Jennifer.

"Those are all famous boxers."

"So? Those are great names. How many kids named Dempsey are gonna show up on the first day of Kindergarten?"

"Not many. And not any with the last name Hart." Jennifer looked back at Max.

"You two don't make this easy."

"Let's try girls' names. I'll go first." Jennifer smiled. "Dorian, Delaney, and Darby."

"For a girl?" Jonathan asked. "Those sound more like boys names to me."

"I couldn't really find any girlie girl names that I liked. What did you come up with then?"

"Dusti, Destiny, and Daisy."

"For _our_ daughter?" It was Jennifer's turn to laugh out loud.

"What's wrong with those names? At least they sound feminine."

"They sound like strippers."

Jonathan looked down at the paper in his hand. "You're right. Wrong list. Sorry about that." He winked at Max and pretended to slip the list back inside his jacket pocket.

"Cute. Very cute. Okay Max, we need some redemption. Whatcha got?"

"Three beautiful names from my youth: Doris, Dorothea, and Doreen."

"Max, we said beautiful _names_ , not beautiful _dames_. You're supposed to be thinking of names for us—not taking a trip down memory lane."

"What? Those are good, solid, American names."

"Sure, if you live in a nursing home."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Mrs. Hart, if you could just step on the scale for me…" The young nurse smiled at Jennifer sweetly.

"I hate this part." She rolled her eyes at Jonathan. She slipped her shoes off and stood on the large scale.

"It looks like you've gained…seven pounds so far." The nurse eyed the scale before making the notation on Jennifer's chart.

"Is that too much?"

"That's fine, Mrs. Hart." She smiled.

"What's the norm?"

"You're fine, Mrs. Hart, really."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" She followed behind as the nurse led them to an empty examination room.

"The doctor will be in to see you shortly." She smiled once more then turned, softly closing the door behind her.

"What's with these nurses and the closed lip thing, anyway? I must be monumentally off target if she wouldn't tell me. I'm a cow. Just say it."

"Jennifer, you are anything but a cow. You're barely showing. And think about how thin you were when you started this journey. I'm sure seven pounds is nothing. But if it'll make you feel better, let's ask Dr. Sumner, alright?"

"Alright." Jennifer looked around the small examination room, studying the various charts and posters on the wall. The photos of actual embryos and fetuses were amazing.

"Here's our little peanut." He pointed the picture of a fetus at fifteen weeks. Though she'd studied the photos and drawings from the numerous baby books, she never failed to be completely awe struck each time she saw one.

"I wonder if he's sucking his thumb yet?" She placed her hand on the small bump on her belly.

"Hart men do not suck their thumbs. We carry Blankies instead. Nice, clean, dignified Blankies." He smiled.

"Oh right. I forgot. Cashmere blankies, no doubt?"

"What else?" He winked, just as someone knocked on the door.

Dr. Sumner entered, dressed in scrubs and a surgical cap. Unlike Dr. Walsh, Dr. Sumner's was covered in pictures of surfboards.

"Good afternoon, Hart family." He shook hands with both of them. "Please excuse me. I had a delivery earlier. Twins. No time to change."

"No problem." Jennifer smiled.

"Sorry that you had to wait a bit. But when your turn comes, I promise to give you my full, undivided attention as well." He glanced down at Jennifer's chart, silently reading over her information. He shook his head in what appeared to be disappointment. "Now, now Mrs. Hart. Seven pounds? You're only fifteen weeks and already you've gained seven pounds?" He continued to shake his head.

Jennifer traded looks with Jonathan. "I asked the nurse, but she said…" Her voice trailed off.

"I'm only kidding you. Seven pounds is perfect. Melissa, my nurse, told me you were concerned. I'm just teasing you a bit."

"Thank goodness." She let out a huge sigh.

"Actually, you look fantastic. No morning sickness, blood pressure normal, urine looks good. Let's find the baby's heartbeat. Just lie back and we'll take a listen."

Jonathan stood beside her, holding her hand in his and the obstetrician placed a Doppler stethoscope on her stomach, rolling it around in a sea of clear jelly. Within seconds, they could hear it. It was stronger than he expected and sounded like a rush of angel's wings flapping in a rapid, synchronized rhythm. Jennifer squeezed his hand.

"Good strong heartbeat. One hundred thirty beats per minute."

"So that's good, then? One-thirty is good?" Jonathan asked.

"The normal range is between one hundred twenty and one-sixty. Right on the money. We'll listen for the heartbeat at every appointment from here on out." Dr. Sumner smiled. "Now, let's see which of you has been keeping up with homework." He made a quick note in her file before closing it.

"Jonathan, true of false: your baby is now approximately two inches long."

"False." Jonathan answered.

"Very good. Jennifer, how long is your baby, give or take?"

"Between three and a half and four inches long."

"Correct. Jonathan, back to you. Everything that your wife eats and drinks can cross the placental wall and impact the fetus. True or false?"  
"True." He smiled at Jennifer.

"You have been studying. Your turn, Jennifer. What's another name for the white, downy hair covering your baby's body?"

"Lanugo."

"Very good. Jonathan, what is the purpose of the lanugo?"

"To protect the baby's skin."

"Yes. And Jennifer, last one. If you could have Jonathan do one special thing for you, without so much as batting an eye or showing any signs of complaint, what would that be?" He winked at Jonathan.

"Now hold up there, Doc…" Jonathan smiled and shook his head.

"I guess a nice, long back rub. And when I say long, I mean at least fifteen minutes. Fifteen whole minutes. No cheating." She gave her husband a impish smile.

"But she owes me from the last time. Can't we just split the difference and call it even?"

"You got off easy. You wouldn't believe some of the requests I hear. Now you go home and give your wife a nice, long back rub. That's all the homework I'm assigning."

"If you say so." He sighed and looked at Jennifer.

"I say so. I'll see you back in four weeks. I realize we won't be at the magic twenty week mark, but maybe we'll cheat a bit and do the ultrasound a week early. I'm sure you're anxious to find out just who's swimming around in there."

"Yes we are." Jennifer nodded with a smile.

"You still have the wager?"

"Of course." Jonathan extended his hand as the doctor stood to leave.

"You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you?" Dr. Sumner returned his handshake.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Aren't we doing this backwards?" She asked, as he fed her another bite of cake from across the table.

"Life is uncertain. Always eat dessert first. Everybody knows that. Are you nervous?" He asked.

"I'm nervous, but not for the reason you'd think."

"Then why?"

"I feel guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Well, because I'm already fifteen weeks, with this nice little bump, and we haven't told him yet."

"It's not like you've known for fifteen weeks. We just got official confirmation a month ago. It's not that long. And you were adamant that you didn't want to tell him over the phone."

"I know…" She pushed a bite of cake around on her plate.

"But?"

"Well, maybe we should've flown out there and told him. Earlier I mean."

"Jennifer, what do you honestly think is going to happen? Hey Pa! Guess what? I'm pregnant. To which he'll reply, Damn it, Jennifer! Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me sooner?" Jonathan imitation of Stephen was dead on, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"You're right."

"Once he hears the word pregnant, he's done. You'll see." He gave her a reassuring smile.

"I hope so." She took another bite of her cake.

The ride to the airport was quiet. Jennifer's hand rested gently on his. The stereo was turned off and Jonathan hummed his new favorite tune softly.

"I think you'll like the automatic transmission in this one better than the standard shift of the convertible."

"I still cannot believe that you bought another car."

"Well, this is for you and Max—for when he's able to drive again. But all the hottest Los Angeles moms are cruising around in SUVs these days."

"But three cars?"

"When it comes to you and our baby, I'll do whatever it takes. The convertible is for when you want to go shopping or out to lunch. When you're in full baby mode, you can take this."

"But we agreed we'd trade in my convertible."

"So I had a weak moment at the dealership."

XXXXXXXXXX

Stephen's flight arrived right on schedule, and Jennifer didn't realize how much she'd missed him until she felt his arms around her.

"Oh my darling girl! You look sensational!" He hugged her tightly.

"I've missed you so much!" She could feel the beginnings of tears in the corners of her eyes.

"Jonathan! How are you?" He extended his hand to his son-in-law.

"I'm great, sir. It's wonderful to see you."

"What are you doing with that briefcase? You're not planning on working this weekend, are you? This weekend is about fun, remember?" She gave her father a look.

"These are the proofs of the wedding photos. We can make our selections and then I can have albums ordered when I return home."

"Are they good?" She asked with a smile, linking her arm in his as they walked through the airport.

"They're fantastic."

The restaurant was crowded for a Thursday evening, but their table was waiting. Jonathan order martinis for himself and Stephen and cranberry juice for Jennifer. The three of them were like busy bees—buzzing and talking all at once. Jennifer could not stop smiling, amazed at the way Jonathan and her father fell back into conversation as though not a day had passed between them. Their laughter was contagious, and it wasn't long until Jennifer's cheeks began to hurt. She'd tried to remain calm, but kept exchanging nervous glances with Jonathan. He, however, was the picture of calm, acting as though nothing were out of the ordinary. They'd decided beforehand to wait until after dinner to tell him. Jonathan would casually reach into his coat pocket for the baby's first photos, telling Stephen he'd begun work on a new project. It would then be up to Stephen to decipher the ultrasound images in the photographs. They had a small side wager on how long it would take Stephen to catch on.

The waiter cleared their dinner dishes, and Stephen ordered coffee. It's time, Jennifer thought to herself, giving Jonathan a slight tap on the leg under the table.

"Is now the time?" Stephen asked them as the waiter set down his coffee.

"The time for what?" Jennifer asked.

"The time when you tell me that I'm to be a grandfather." He casually stirred cream into his cup, smiling like a sly fox.

Jonathan shot Jennifer a look. "I give up. I absolutely give up." He raised his arms in a sign of surrender.

"Pa! But how—" She looked back at Jonathan.

"It's so obvious, my dear. Your face…it's fuller. Your waist…it's fuller too. Your new car is practically a bus. You're drinking cranberry juice—straight up. It's obvious to anyone who knows you, Darling."

"So that's it? You're just going to be all Sherlock Holmes about the whole thing?"

"Of course not!" He stood, taking Jennifer's hand and helping her stand. "My beautiful baby girl is going to be a mom. I am so happy. So very, very happy." He stood hugging his daughter in the middle of the crowded restaurant. Jonathan watched them with a smile, noting the traces of tears in his father-in-law's eyes. After a moment, Stephen released her and made his way around the table.

"Jonathan, I couldn't be more thrilled. This is incredible news." He shared a warm hug with his son-in-law.

"Thank you. We're very excited."

They returned to their seats and the buzz started all over again. The ultrasound pictures were examined, and Grandpa Edwards was brought up to speed on everything that was happening in utero.

"You know, I think I'm due an Oscar. I made it through the entire dinner without once letting on that I knew."

"You're amazing. I can't believe you figured it out."

"I knew the moment I saw you in the airport. You just have that glorious glow. And then, when I saw the car, there was no doubt. There's only one reason to go from an Ava to a full size SUV." He smiled proudly at them.

"All that planning…" Jonathan looked at Jennifer.

"I'm sorry if I ruined your surprise but I couldn't resist putting the surprise back on you."

"You're not mad that we waited to tell you?"

"Of course not. I'm glad you waited to tell me in person. You can't hug someone over the phone." He reached for his daughter's hand, giving it a loving squeeze.

"So how did Suzanne tell you?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, I don't think I've heard this story." Jennifer added.

"My goodness! That was a long time ago. We never told you that story, Darling?"

"If you did, I don't remember it."

"Well, your mother sent me on a little scavenger hunt. She had these little notes hidden all over the house. You know how she used to love to leave us notes. Anyway, I called her from work one afternoon and told her I was going to be late because I wanted to stop and buy a new pair of shoes on the way home. She told me that she'd gone shopping earlier that day and had found the perfect pair of shoes for me and that she had them waiting for me at home. Well, I was really surprised, because your mother had never bought shoes for me before. Clothing, yes, but never shoes. Well, I went straight home from work and found a note on the door. Said she'd left the shoes for me inside, but that I'd have to follow the clues to find them. Now I was completely intrigued, because not only had she never bought shoes for me, she'd never made me go on a scavenger hunt. She had me looking all over the house. I searched for all these clues for at least half an hour."

"What sort of clues?"

"She had these little riddles. I can't remember exactly. But riddles that led me to specific places in the house. The last place I went was upstairs, in our bedroom. Your mother was waiting for me there. I had no idea she was even in the house. Her note made it sound like she'd gone out. She scared the daylights out of me. Well, here was your incredibly beautiful mother, lying on our bed, waiting for me. There was a shoe box on the bed too, with a big yellow bow on it. I still could not figure out what had gotten into her. But when a gorgeous woman is lying in your bed, you don't ask questions…am I right?" He gave Jonathan a look.

"I agree with you there—one hundred percent." He winked at Jennifer.

"We had some sort of verbal exchange, I can't recall exactly what was said. Then I opened the shoe box only to find the most adorable pair of baby booties inside. And that's how your mother told me that you were on the way." He smiled at Jennifer with a slight blush on his cheeks.

"That is a great story. I can't believe you never told me."

"Well, I guess I was supposed to wait until this moment. So Jonathan, how did she tell you?"

"She took two pregnancy tests at the hotel while I was down in the bar having drinks with a business associate of mine. When I came back up to our suite, she was standing in my bathrobe. She asked me to pick one of the pockets, because she had a surprise for me. Never entered my mind that she would be pulling out a little white stick."

"And since you'd done two tests, it didn't matter which pocket he selected."

"Precisely." Jennifer nodded.

"Clever girl." He took a sip of his coffee. "So when will my grandson be making his appearance?"

"April." Jennifer answered.

"What makes you think it's a boy?" Jonathan asked, intrigued.

"I don't know. It's just what came to my mind when I hugged her in the airport. And after sitting here and watching you both, I definitely think it's going to be a boy. But, if it happens to be a girl, well…you know how I feel about baby girls." He smiled sweetly at Jennifer.

"My next appointment is in four weeks and Dr. Sumner said we'd probably have the ultrasound and find out exactly what we're having. And that will definitely be cause for a phone call."

"Well, I think I toast is in order." Stephen raised his coffee cup. "To my grandchild—the perfect reflection of love between the two most important people in my life."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _My Little Prince,_

 _Here you are, fifteen weeks along. I can't believe how much you are growing. I still haven't felt you, but I know you're in there. Daddy and I heard your heartbeat today. Dr. Sumner said your heartbeat was good and strong and of course I'm not surprised. You're an Hart. I have gained seven pounds so far but I'm not going to complain. I'm preparing my body to be a healthy haven for you, and gaining weight is part of the deal. I plan on doing everything in my power to make sure you are strong and healthy so you can arm wrestle your father from the get-go._

 _Your grandfather is downstairs playing cards with Daddy and Uncle Max and some of our friends. We were so excited to finally tell him face to face about you but he figured it out before we had a chance to tell him. I told you—he's a sly one. He can string clues together in ways I can't even describe. He was quite smug at the dinner table. I know we'll laugh about it for years to come. He is certain that you are a boy and of course, I've never thought otherwise. Daddy is still hanging on to a pink dream. At least that's what he tells me. But I overheard him talking with Uncle Max and they were using words like 'him' and 'he' and 'his' so I think this whole 'girl' thing is just to give us a topic for debate. And he always picks out the most bizarre girls names from our books too. He knows you're a boy. He's just playing with me. Well, maybe two can play at that game._

 _Saturday night we're flying to San Francisco to attend a very fancy party. Remember that special place I told you about? The place where Daddy lived when he was just a baby? Your grandfather and I are dedicating a library in honor of your father and one of his dear friends who passed away this summer. A man named Dr. Benjamin Daniel Hirszberg. He and your father shared a love of books and reading. I know it's going to be a very special night and I'm so glad you'll be there with us. We will be seeing lots of people that we haven't seen since our wedding. I'm wondering if they'll be as sharp as Grandpa and if they'll figure out our little secret? Should we tell them? I think it's more fun to make people wonder._

 _Mommy is tired, so I will end my letter here. I know I've told you many times today, but I never tire of saying it—I love you with all my heart!_

 _Night-Night!_

 _Mommy_

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Hi Champ!_

 _Dad's Advice: When buying a car, there are some general rules to remember. First of all, the car salesman, despite what he says, is not your friend. He's going to flatter you, build you up, compliment you, etc. because he's there to close the deal and get a check. They may tell you that they're giving you the best price and that they're losing money on the deal all in the name of friendship but that's not true. Second item to note: Do NOT fall in love with the car. If you do love it, do NOT let the salesman know. Trust me on this. I bought three cars in a month's time. I know what I'm talking about._

 _Mommy beat me up this morning, so I only have a few minutes to write before she comes looking for me for breakfast. She's downstairs with Uncle Max and Grandpa right now. We've had a very busy weekend, and Grandpa is flying back to Maryland later this afternoon. This was the big weekend when your mother and I were going to tell him all about you. And we did—only it wasn't a surprise like we planned. Instead, your crafty grandfather beat us to the punch. Said he figured out Mommy was pregnant from the moment he saw her in the airport. So I'm 0-2 in the surprise department. But it doesn't matter because you continue to surprise me everyday. We heard you heartbeat! What an amazing sound! Dr. Sumner said he'll probably do another ultrasound on our next visit. You'll be nineteen weeks then. Almost halfway through the ballgame. I am so proud of your mother. Everyone is in awe of how beautiful she looks. Our phone has been ringing non stop since we returned home from the library dedication. We just finished writing all the thank you notes for the wedding gifts and I guess we'll be starting over with baby gifts soon. Even though Mommy and I decided not to tell anyone at the dedication, we couldn't deny Grandpa the opportunity to share our good news with everyone. He looked so proud at our wedding when he watched your mother. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. And she was incredible. But I don't think I've ever seen your grandfather look more proud than he did Saturday night. He told everyone—the valets, the woman in the coat check room, everyone. We're glad now that we waited for this weekend to tell him. He's over the moon for you. We all are. I'm not supposed to let you know this, but he's already informed your mother and me that he's buying you a pony. I know, I know. What's a baby going to do with a pony? I asked your mother the same question and she replied, without batting an eye: "They'll grow up together." So in addition to your faithful dog, Freeway, you will also come into this world with a pony. I'm sorry for ruining the surprise. That's happened to me a lot lately too._

 _Mommy is hollering for me to hurry up. You think she knows what we're up to? With our little conversations? I'll tell her one day, but for now I'm still happy keeping this our little secret._

 _Pa loves you!_

 _Me_


	14. Chapter 14

"It's all set, Mr. H" He handed him the car keys.

"I owe you one, Max."

"You don't owe me nothing."

"Now I'm thinking we should be on the road by noon but you never know. Sometimes Dr. Sumner is running behind if he has a delivery. But we'll call you as soon as we leave."

"I can't wait." Max nodded. "Oh and don't forget this." He reached inside his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

"Oh right. Thanks." He gave him a wink, slipping the paper into his jacket.

Jennifer pushed open the door to the kitchen. She took one look at them and laughed.

"Okay, you two are definitely up to something." She raised her eyebrow suspiciously.

"No we're not. We're just talking." Jonathan smiled at her, pouring himself a second cup of coffee.

"Uh huh." She nodded sarcastically as she turned and walked back into the living room.

"Damn! That mothers' intuition thing is really starting to kick in." Max said with a shudder.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jonathan, any last minute declarations?" Dr. Sumner asked as he applied the clear jelly to Jennifer's ever-expanding stomach.

"All bets are in." He smiled down at her, squeezing her hand.

"Jennifer?"

"It's a boy." She gave Jonathan a grin.

"Well, let's see if you'll be celebrating Thanksgiving with a Tom or a Tina Turkey in your oven here." He placed the ultrasound transducer on her, gently rolling it across her belly.

"Oh look at the spine, Jonathan…"

"And is that a foot?" Jonathan pointed to the monitor.

"Yes, that's a foot. Now if this little Butterball will just move the other foot…" Dr. Sumner entered more information into the machine.

"It's just incredible." Jennifer marveled at the image on the screen as the doctor narrated all the various visible parts of Baby Hart.

"I'm going to take some measurements." His fingers clicked on the keyboard. "By measuring your baby's femur, along with several cranial measurements, we can make sure that everything is right on track."

"Look at those tiny little hands." Jonathan squeezed her hand again.

"He's looking right at us. Look at his little eye sockets. Hi Baby!" She couldn't hide the excitement in her voice. Stealing a quick look up at Jonathan, she was moved by the tear she saw in his eye.

"Jennifer, this baby is the picture of health. Growth is right on target. I think we'll stay with the original due date."

"Oh thank God." She sighed.

"So everything really looks good, then? Bones, heart?" Jonathan asked.

"Everything looks great." He removed the transducer and wiped the clear jelly away with a tissue. "And you look great, Jennifer. You could even gain a little more weight actually."

"So you're giving me permission to double up on dessert then?"

"Let Jonathan double up. You stick with something healthy." He stood and flipped the light switch.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Sumner." Jonathan offered his hand.

"Wait! I haven't told you what you're having."

"Oh my gosh. I almost forgot. I got so caught up in looking at all the little parts." Jennifer smiled.

"Before I tell you, just what exactly is the reward for the winner?" The doctor asked.

"Well, we took a cue from you actually. A week in Maui." She smiled at Jonathan.

Dr. Sumner grinned, shaking his head. "Well Jonathan, I hope you like the beach because you're having a boy."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan held his hand on the small of her back as he ushered her into the elevator.

"We're on Level Two, right?" He asked.

"Yes."

The doors closed and he hit the emergency stop button.

"Not again…" She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Do you have any idea…" He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Any idea at all how much I love you?"

"Well, I have a little bit of an idea," She teased. "but pregnant women can be very forgetful. So I might need a little reminder."

With her back against the wall of the elevator, he slipped one arm around her waist, resting his other hand on her stomach. "I have never been happier to lose a bet in my life." He kissed her deeply, taking her breath away. She slid her arms under his jacket, pulling him closer. He moved from her lips to her neck, humming as he kissed her—a song that had been on his mind for days.

" _People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one…_ " He sang to her in a whisper in between kisses. " _And we've just begun. Think I'm gonna have a son_."

"Jonathan…" She smiled.

He stopped and looked into her eyes—the very same eyes he prayed would greet him when he held his newborn son. He still didn't know their exact color, but they looked inside him with an intensity that he couldn't define.

"I love you." He smiled.

"I love you too."

XXXXXXXXXX

"It's me." Jonathan held his cell phone to his ear. "Hold on just a minute while I put you on speaker phone." He pressed several buttons as he pulled out from the parking garage. "Are you there?"

"I'm here. Well, how'd it go?"

"Everything looks great." Jonathan smiled at Jennifer.

"We're having a boy!" Her eyes sparkled.

"A baby boy! Congratulations! Wow, this is incredible. But I'm not surprised. I've been saying it was gonna be a boy for weeks."

"Yeah right." Jennifer laughed. "You two owe me big."

"What do you mean we owe you?" Max asked.

"Oh c'mon Max. For someone who spends a lot of time with a bookie, you're sure quick to forget our bet."

"Did we have a bet?" He asked her innocently.

"Very funny." She laughed again.

"Did I make a bet with her, Mr. H?"

"I think we both did. Didn't we say that we were having a boy?"

"That's what I've been saying for weeks."

"You both said this baby was a girl. Therefore, I win. And I expect to be paid in full. Today."

"No, Mrs. H. We said boy. You just forgot. Pregnant women have a tendency to be forgetful. We got proof. Show her, Mr. H."

Jonathan smiled, reaching into his jacket pocket.

"What's this?" She opened the folded paper warily.

"A little proof." Max replied.

Jennifer read the paper, laughing out loud. "I see you've been busy makin' book." She said as she read. "Between you two, my father, Barbara, Slats, and all your poker buddies—there's not a pink thought on this entire list."

"Nothing but boys all the way down." Max said proudly.

"That's because they all know I throw nothing but Y's—chromosomes, I mean." He winked at Jennifer.

"Sounds like a bit of hedging to me, Max." She raised her eyebrow.

"Sounds like that belly is a sure thing." Max added.

"Listen Max, we're gonna give Grandpa a call and give him the news. Not that he'll be surprised."

"Alright. I am so happy for you both. I'm happy for all of us. A little boy. This is great. And the best part is that we no longer have to look up any girls' names."

"Thanks. We'll talk to you later." Jonathan looked at Jennifer.

"Congratulations, Jennifer."

"Thank you, Max. Bye."

Jonathan closed his phone, giving Jennifer a quick smile.

"You two think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"We don't think. We know." His grin was full of mischief.

"Well, I guess we should ring Grandpa."

"I've got him on speed dial." Jonathan pressed the necessary buttons before handing the phone to Jennifer. Stephen answered on the second ring.

"Edwards' Residence."

"Hi Pa. It's us."

"I've been waiting by the phone all day, Darling. Are you finished with your appointment?"

"Yes."

"And was my favorite fetus cooperative?"

"Of course."

"And I suppose Jonathan is thrilled to be having a boy?" Stephen spoke with a smug tone.

"Yes he is." She smiled and bit her lip, gently patting Jonathan's thigh.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Uh, you just missed our exit." She pointed out the window of the Suburban.

"No I didn't."

"We're not going home?"

"Nope." He continued to stare straight ahead.

"I knew you and Max were up to something this morning." She gave him a look, but he just continued to drive. "You're not gonna tell me, are you?"

"We're taking a little trip."

"Let me guess. You're thirsty for Napa again."

"Well I'm always thirsty. But that's not it."

"Okay, scratch Napa." She thought a minute. "Plane, train, or automobile?"

"Automobile." He answered.

"A three hour tour?" She asked playfully, knowing their exact destination.

"A little longer than that, but you guessed it."

They stopped for a late lunch at their favorite restaurant in route to their weekend get-a-way. Side by side they sat, studying the pictures of their baby boy from the ultrasound just hours before. Time got away from them as they talked and dreamed of the baby that would be joining their family in just a few short months. Stories and laughter of Max and his baby bets and Grandpa and his pony purchase filled Jennifer with joy. She watched Jonathan's eyes light up as he continued to examine the pictures. The way his hands held the photos themselves, she knew he would be nothing but tender and gentle with their son. They were the same expressive hands she'd watched tell stories that afternoon at Nino's place—the hands she'd longed to touch. She reached over and placed her hand lovingly on his; her eyes filled with memories and tears.

"Darling, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." She smiled.

It was breezy and cool when they arrived in the late afternoon sun to the cabin. Jennifer offered to help carry their bags inside, but Jonathan refused. From the moment she'd moved into maternity clothes, he hadn't let her do much of anything—which would appeal to most women, but not Jennifer. She loved being part of the action. She wasn't a casual observer. But she knew in her heart that he only wanted to protect her. And what woman wouldn't love being taken care of by him?

"So who did my packing? You or Max?" She stood in the kitchen, surveying the contents of the groceries.

"We flipped for it. I lost. So I packed for you again. But I think I did a better job this time."

"I'm sure you did fine." She smiled.

"How 'bout a fire?" He reached inside the fireplace and opened the flue.

"I would love a fire. And you know what else? I think I'd like to take a shower too. I still have traces of that sticky stuff." She lifted her blouse, inspecting her belly.

"Wait! Don't move." He commanded.

"What?" She looked up at him.

"No, no, no, just stay right there. No! Don't!" He ran into the bedroom and returned in seconds with the camera.

"Jonathan, you've already shot an entire roll of me this week."

"And I plan to shoot another one this weekend."

"Mine has to be the most photographed pregnant mass." She rolled her eyes as he clicked photos of her from all angles.

"That's because yours happens to be the most beautiful pregnant mass. Think of the thrill we'll be giving the guys at the processing center."

"I'm sure they're still not over the last three rolls we dropped off."

"As excited as I am to see our baby, I will miss this belly." He bent down, kissing her belly button.

"I'm gonna miss it too. Some days I look down at it and I can't believe it's mine. And it's going to get bigger. It just still amazes me everyday."

"You still amaze me everyday." His hands slipped under her blouse. "Everything about this body amazes me." He ran his hands across her breasts. "And these just happen to be two of my favorite fringe benefits."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Hi Champ!_

 _Well it's official. Dr. Sumner checked out all your hardware and you are definitely a boy (not that I ever had any doubts). Your mother and I are thrilled. So are your grandfather and Uncle Max. Of course we all knew you were a boy, but it was fun to play around with your mom for a few weeks. I have to admit though—I think she was on to us. She's incredibly smart, and it's hard to keep anything from her. I think she gets that from Grandpa. The best news of the day though was when Dr. Sumner confirmed that you're healthy and growing right on schedule. So, the Easter Bunny should be bringing you right on time._

 _Mommy and I are up at the ranch. You're going to love it up here. I surprised her with a trip to celebrate YOU! She's taking a shower right now, and when she gets out, I have a few more surprises for her. Uncle Max and Grandpa sent her gifts, and I have a few of my own. I also have a very special surprise planned in the morning. I came up with a few clues for her. We'll see if she figures it out. Like I said, your mom is so smart. I won't be surprised when she does._

 _Okay Little Guy, I better go for now. I have a towel nice and warm from the fire to wrap around Mommy when she steps out of the shower. I have been taking tons of pictures of her so you can see just how beautiful she looks during this time. Just when I think she can't possibly look more radiant, she surprises me again. I know what it is. All the love she feels for you shines through more and more with each day that brings us closer to you. Blackjack and we're there (21 more weeks!)._

 _I love you,_

 _Daddy_

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer stepped from the shower just as Jonathan entered the bathroom.

"For you, Milady." He wrapped her up tightly in a fluffy white towel.

"My goodness! Towel service too." She gave him a quick kiss before turning to the bedroom. Finding her bag, she searched for something to wear, but didn't see the trademark pajama top of Jonathan's that she loved to sleep in.

"Are the pajamas in your bag?" She called out.

"What pajamas?"

"Our pajamas."

"They didn't make it this trip."

"No pajamas?"

"Nope. Sorry, Darling." He called back.

"Then what am I supposed to wear?"

Jonathan stuck his head around the corner and into the bedroom. "Nothing." He smiled.

"Very funny."

"I told you I did a better job packing this time."

"Jonathan…"

"They're right here, in my bag." He crossed the room and pulled out a light blue top, tossing it to her.

"Baby blue. My new favorite color." She gave him a smile.

"Mine too." He wrapped his arms around her waist, covering the back of her neck with kisses. "Now then, you've had a shower. It's time for presents."

"Presents?" She turned around to face him.

"Yes, presents—plural. Follow me." He took her by the hand, leading the way back into the Great Room. In front of the fireplace, he'd made a cozy love nest for two, complete with their favorite plaid blanket. Three beautifully wrapped gifts sat waiting for her.

"Jonathan Hart." She shook her head. "This is so sweet. But I feel bad. I didn't get you anything."

"We can work out some sort of trade later." He winked as they settled themselves in front of the fire.

"Which one should I open first?" She asked.

"This one." He handed her the largest box first. "It's from Max."

"From Max?"

"Yep. And there's a card too." He pulled a small envelope from under the bow and handed it to her. She opened it and read it aloud.

 _Dear Mrs. H,_

 _I must admit that I haven't spent a lot of time around pregnant women in my life. But I know for a fact that you happen to be the prettiest one I ever saw. This baby is so lucky to have such a special Mom._

 _Congratulations!_

 _Love,_

 _Max_

"Oh Jonathan!" She felt the tears building in her eyes. "That's the sweetest thing Max has ever said to me."

"Let's see what he got you."

Jennifer opened the gift, laughing when she pulled out a book. " _The One-Armed Cook: Quick and Easy Recipes, Smart Meal Plans, and Savvy Advice for New Moms_. Is that a hint or what?"

"That's a great gift. Not that you'll ever use it—but it's the thought that counts." He took the book from her, placing it on the coffee table. "Alright, on to gift number two." He handed her a smaller box, complete with a blue plaid bow.

"Is this from you?"

"Nope."

"There's no card."

"I think the card is inside." He smiled.

Jennifer eagerly opened the second present. Under several layers of cream tissue paper, she found a tiny pair of baby booties. They were old. Their leather was worn and the grosgrain ribbon bows and flowers that adorned them had faded. They were tied together with another piece of ribbon, stained and frayed.

"Where did these come from?" She stared at them. They seemed too tiny to belong to a real baby—perhaps at one time a prized possession of a doll. They reminded Jennifer of something one would find hiding inside an old trunk in an attic. Checking the bottom of the box, she found a letter.

 _My Darling Girl,_

 _Congratulations on giving the world a precious gift—my grandchild. What a blessing for our family. I couldn't be happier for you and Jonathan. You are both passionate, caring people—deeply committed to each other. I can't think of two people more deserving of such a blessed experience._

 _And now, on to the shoes. Yes, you probably don't recognize them. These are the shoes. The shoes your mother gave me the day I went on a most special scavenger hunt that brought me the news of you—my baby girl on the way. Your mother told me you were a girl from the beginning and I never doubted it. She was so incredibly beautiful throughout her entire pregnancy. And once again it's like seeing her all over again with each picture I see of you. You continue to glow, lighting everyone's heart around you with a joy that I can't even begin to describe. How fortunate I feel to be able to bask in the glow of your happiness. It's my greatest treasure to date (until I hold another little treasure in the spring)._

 _You never wore these booties, I'm sorry to say. But your mother fastened a pink ribbon on them (yes, that ribbon was pink, once upon a time) and hung them on a tiny wooden stake in her garden. And there they hung for years, drinking in the sun and rain. Your mother said that she left them there in case any garden fairies came along in need of something to put on their tiny feet. I don't know if you will remember them hanging in the garden or not. They were quite concealed in the Astor or Phlox by the time you were big enough to roam around the grounds. I'd forgotten about them myself until I told you that story last month. It's taken some time, but I was finally able to locate the box where they've been hiding all these years._

 _Once again, your father has proven himself to be a sentimental old fool. But if loving my family so deeply means I'm a fool, then I'm happy to be found guilty. I love you, Darling. With all my heart, I love you and that precious child inside you._

 _So Much Love,_

 _Daddy_

As much as she wanted to read it aloud to Jonathan, she knew she couldn't. She could hardly breathe by the time she'd made it to the closing of his letter. Tears stung her eyes, and Jonathan took the letter from her and held her.

"My father should know better than to write something like that to me. I'm just one big emotional hormone." She took a deep breath, wiping the tears from her eyes with the cuffs of the pajama top.

"So these are the famed shoes?" Jonathan held them up. "Did you wear them into battle?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "It sure looks that way. No, my mother kept them in her garden."

"What? To scare away the birds?"

"No! They were for the garden fairies. Just read the letter…"

"And your father kept them all these years?" He whistled in amazement, placing them on the table beside the cook book.

"He tries to pass off his pack rat mentality as nostalgia. That man never could throw anything out."

"Two down, one to go." He handed her the final gift—a white box tied with a tasteful red silk bow.

"Did you wrap this?" She asked, taking the box from his hands.

"All by myself." He smiled.

"Is this gonna make me cry?"

"I don't think so. Just open it."

She untied the bow and removed the wrapping, having absolutely no idea what could be hiding inside. Jonathan excelled in everything and surprising her was no exception. Removing the lid, she was immediately baffled. She reached inside and pulled out two items.

"A carrot and an alarm clock?" She gave him a confused look.

"Do you like them?" He asked with a smug grin.

"They're…unique."

"Well, today was a big day. I wanted to get you something really special." He smiled proudly.

"It's certainly different."

"There's a card too." He motioned to the box. Jennifer reached inside, finding a small note card.

 _In the morning I'll chime_

 _At the appointed time_

 _A wish you've had_

 _Will come true at dawn_

 _The carrot? A key_

 _A journey awaits_

 _For you and me._

"Jonathan, this makes no sense." She looked up at him.

"That's because it's a riddle."

"Well, the clock part makes sense. In the morning I'll chime at the appointed time. But the carrot is a key? A key to what?"

"I guess you'll have to sleep on it, and when the alarm sounds, maybe you'll have it figured out."

She reread the riddle, still perplexed. "You came up with this by yourself?"

"Yep."

"How 'bout a little hint?"

"Do you think your mother gave your father any hints on their scavenger hunt? Nope, no hints. Just think about it. You're a clever girl, as your father says."

"The carrot is a key…" She fanned herself with the card, trying her best to decipher the code.

"In the meantime, I think there might be one more small gift around here." He reached under the blanket, pulling out a small, slim rectangular box, wrapped in her favorite black and white paper.

"Now this box is smartly dressed. I love the pinstripes."

"This is just a little something from me to you." He placed the box in her hands.

"Another treat?"

"What can I say? I'm a hopeless case." He smiled.

She gave the box a shake. "Marbles?"

"Open it…"

She ripped the wrapping without hesitation. Inside, she found an elegant strand of pearls. "Oh, Jonathan…" She shook her head as she did every time he surprised her. "These are magnificent."

"Let's try 'em on. Here, let me help you." He secured them around her pale, freckled neck.

"How do they look?" She held her hair up, striking a model's pose.

"Even better now that they're on you."

She ran her hand lightly across them. "They're beautiful, but you have got to stop with all these little treats. Really. Two cars and a strand of pearls in two months?"

"The cars are necessities. You have to have transportation. And the pearls? Well, I cannot allow you to give birth without them."

"What? Why not?" She laughed.

"All the greatest TV moms wore pearls. June Clever, Harriet Nelson, Donna Stone. You're gonna be right up there with the best."

He ran his fingers through her damp hair before kissing her tenderly. There was something about her when she was fresh from the shower with her hair still wet and no makeup or jewelry—every freckle exposed. _A thousand and one little pieces of Jennifer_ , he thought. _And the list keeps growing_.

She pulled back and reached once again for the baby booties, holding them up in the light of the fire. The spun quietly around on the faded ribbon.

"My father is too much." She thought about the loving thoughts he expressed in his note.

"We should have told him we were having a girl. Then, the surprise would've finally been on him once the baby is born."

"Now that would be mean."

"But have we ever had a chance to surprise the man?"

"No."

"You didn't get to tell him about our engagement. He figured out you were pregnant."

"He likes to be in the know."

"I say we don't leave until we've named this baby. And then we keep it a secret from everyone."

"We don't have enough food up here to pull that off. We've been studying those baby name books for weeks and we have yet to agree on a name. Not even one!"

"But like Max said…" He stood up and walked toward the door of the bedroom. "Our work load just decreased by fifty percent. We only have to focus on boys' names now." He disappeared into the darkened room, returning moments later with two books.

"Not tonight." She sighed heavily.

"We've been calling this baby Tadpole and Peanut for weeks. Let's name this kid. Now c'mon." He handed her one of the books, then snuggled up under the blanket next to her. "I think our problem is that we're just trying too hard. We've been too methodical about the whole thing—going page by page."

"And whose idea was that?"

"Let's let Fate have a try." He closed his eyes and opened the book. Blindly, he brought his finger down on a page.

"Well?" She waited to see where Fate led his finger.

"Donovan. Dark chieftain"

"Donovan Hart." She said aloud. "No, I don't think so." She shook her head.

"Your turn."

Jennifer imitated him, blindly selecting a name from her book. "Theodore. Gift of God."

"Theodore Hart? Teddy Hart?" Jonathan considered the name.

"Not a fan of Theodore." She shook her head again.

"Me either." Jonathan closed his eyes once more, waving his finger above a page. "Placido. Untroubled"

"Placido? As in Domingo?" She laughed.

"No way." His tone was firm.

Jennifer smiled, making her next selection. "Hearne. Mythical hunter."

"Hearne Hart?" It was Jonathan's turn to shake his head. "The kid would hate us."

"Without a doubt." She nodded in agreement.

"We're not doing so hot." He brought his finger down on another page. He read the name then laughed. "Now we're going from bad to worse—Ramon."

"Ramon Hart. Rrrrrramon." Jennifer rolled the 'R' with a heavy Latin accent. "I love it." Her eyes sparkled.

"No way in hell." He gave her a look.

"Darling, I'm telling you, we're just gonna have to wait and see what this boy looks like. We've been all through these books. I hate to admit it, but Dempsey is starting to look pretty good to me."

"I'd just like for us to have one little secret about this baby that no one else knows." He watched the flames, beginning to die down. "Wait!" He threw the blanket aside and returned to the bedroom. In a moment, he was back with another book. He smiled at Jennifer, handing her the book.

"You know what? I think you're on to something." She smiled knowingly at him.

"We've been using the wrong book. Our baby's name is in this book." He pulled the blanket up over him.

Jennifer looked down at the special gift she'd received from Doc.

"You do the honors." She held the book out to him.

"No, you do it." He shook his head.

"Together? You open the book, and I'll make the pick?"

"Deal." Nodding, he took the book from her and opened to the middle. Jennifer closed her eyes, and slowly placed her finger on the page.

"Well? What's it say?" She kept her eyes closed, finger still in place.

Jonathan tilted the book toward the fire. Silently he read the name and the meaning.

"You're not gonna believe this."

"What? What name did I pick?" She asked, eyes still shut.

He paused. "Elliot."

Jennifer opened her eyes. "No I did not!"

"I'm kidding. But I think you did it. This might be the one." He turned the book toward her, pointing out the name. She read the entry and instantly fell in love with it.

"It's perfect. Do you like it?"

"I love it. It's not a name I would have thought of on my own. But the meaning and everything. This is it." He looked from the book to her eyes.

"And it's French which would be in my mother's honor."

"So do we agree? Is this the name we love for our son?"

"Yes, if you're happy with it." She nodded.

"I think it's meant to be." He gave her belly a loving pat.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _My Little Prince,_

 _Indeed! You are NOT a Little Princess. Not that I ever thought you might be. Daddy and I are overjoyed that we have a healthy baby boy on the way. Dr. Sumner checked out all your parts and said you are the picture of health. I can't believe that we're half way there. It won't be soon enough. I wish I could hold you in my arms right now. We called Uncle Max and Grandpa as soon as we left the doctor's office to share our good news. Of course, they both knew you were a boy all along—they just like to tease me._

 _Daddy kidnapped me and brought me up to our ranch. It is so beautiful and peaceful—I know you will love coming here. And the best part is only Uncle Max and Grandpa know how to reach us. This way, I can have your father all to myself without someone from his office tracking him down. I am very proud of your father's business success but sometimes I'm stingy and don't want to share him with the rest of the world. I wish you could see how excited he is about you. I was watching him today and the way he looked at the new ultrasound photos of you. I hope you have your father's hands. They are strong and expressive, yet gentle and quiet. I think I fell in love with his hands first. And I know when I see his hands holding you I will fall in love with them all over again._

 _Well, you won't believe it but we decided on a name for you. A first name, anyway. Still haven't tackled a middle name, but I have a couple of ideas. We've decided not to tell anyone. We'd like for one part of this journey to be a surprise. We have spent days going through our baby name books with no luck. But tonight, alone with your father here in the cabin, we found it. And what makes it even more special is that we found your name in a book that was a gift from a dear friend of Daddy's. Remember Dr. Hirszberg? Well, the first and only time I ever met him, he was very complimentary of me and he gave me a beautiful book. And your name was hiding inside it. Daddy opened the book, I closed my eyes and Fate led my finger right to your name. The more I say your name and think about its meaning, the more sure I am about it. Daddy feels the same way. We hope you will be proud of your name and will appreciate the nature in which it was given. Your name picked us, not the other way around. Your father and I have seen Fate do a great many things—and giving us the perfect name for our son is obviously no exception. I do plan, however, to still call you my "Little Prince" because that's my special little name for you. Also I wouldn't want to write your name down and have someone uncover our secret. As you know, your father is getting better at keeping secrets, but he's a work in progress._

 _My Love, it's three o'clock and I need to get some sleep. I was just up on my nightly trip to the bathroom and wanted to write down these thoughts while they were fresh on my mind. Daddy has some sort of surprise planned for me—an alarm is sounding at seven o'clock and I'm supposed to use a carrot (yes, a carrot!) to unlock something. I have no idea what. If you have any ideas, feel free to wake me up and let me know. But I know Daddy. I will love it no matter what. And I will always love you no matter what!_

 _I love you so much, my precious boy!_

 _Love,_

 _Mommy_

XO

XXXXXXXXXX

The flames were gone and only a few warm coals remained as Jonathan pulled another blanket up on them. Checking the alarm clock on the coffee table, they only had a few minutes until it would be time to dress and go in search of his surprise. He spooned his body up to hers, feeling the warmth of her skin on his. One hand found comfort under her pillow; the other, resting gently on her belly. She didn't move and he suddenly regretted planning their surprise outing for such an early time. But the light would be perfect, and he knew she'd feel refreshed because of it. Lying beside her, he listened to the quiet sound of her breathing. He imagined the baby boy floating peacefully inside her, and as he did, he cradled his hand more firmly around her growing form. As they lay in the darkness, he smiled and buried his head in her hair. The need to hold her and protect her was greater now than ever. Yet he looked to her for the very same. She was his haven—his place of truest rest. Most everyone in his powerful adult world wanted something from him. But not Jennifer. She only wanted him. Not money. Not power. Just the person inside. _You've already given birth to me, this one will be a cinch_ , he thought, giving her shoulder a light kiss.

"Hi…" She whispered, moving her arm to rest upon his.

"Good morning."

"Is it time already?"

"No, not yet. The alarm hasn't gone off."

"How did you sleep?"

"I slept fine. I only got up once."

"You did? I didn't even hear you."

"That's because I was extra quiet. How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. But we only have a few minutes and then it'll be time to get dressed."

"I'm sorry, but your clever girl still has no idea about the carrot."

"There's still time." He hugged her close, humming the song he sang to her in the elevator.

"So no hints?"

"Nope." He continued to hum softly in her ear and they lay in silence for several minutes.

"That really is a beautiful song, isn't it?" She commented.

"Kenny Loggins is right up there with Billy Joel. He wrote another verse to this song, too. Betcha didn't know that?"

"No I didn't." She smiled

"Wanna hear it?"

"Of course." She snuggled up against him, curiously happy to hear his new verse.

" _Love the girl who holds the world in a champagne glass_

 _She's got a nice ass_

 _And I'm lovin' all her mass_

 _And now I find she reads my mind_

 _Every dream and thought_

 _And she's sexy hot_

 _Gonna give her all I've got…"_

"Jonathan Hart, you are too much." She turned over to face him.

All his little songs. All his crazy lyrics. This was the part of Jonathan she loved most. The Jonathan that belonged solely to her. She tried to imagine Corporate Jonathan singing his way through a million dollar deal. She bit her lip in an effort to conceal her laughter.

" _And even though we ain't got money_ …" He continued.

"But we do!" She argued playfully.

" _I'm so in love with you, honey. Everything will bring a chain of love_." He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her just as the alarm sounded from the table above their heads.

"Time's up. I still have no answer." She looked up at him.

"C'mon. Let's get ready."

While Jennifer dressed, Jonathan quickly packed a picnic basket with their breakfast. Checking his watch, he knew they'd be right on time. He grabbed their jackets from the coat rack on his way into the bedroom.

"Here you are." He tossed Jennifer's jacket on the bed.

"Did you wake me up from the warm comfort of our fireside love nest to go hiking?" She pulled a pair of boots from her bag and held them up.

"No I did not. But let me help you with those." Jonathan motioned for her to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Then what are we doing?" She asked again.

"You'll find out soon enough." He stood and pulled her back to her feet, wrapping his arms around her. "But you'll love it, I promise."

Jennifer finished getting ready, while Jonathan quickly dressed and loaded the picnic basket in the vehicle. Upon returning, he gave the interior a once over glance. His eyes came to rest on the plaid blanket, lying in a heap in front of the fireplace. He retrieved it, folding it as he walked back outside. Within a minute, he stashed it inside the picnic basket then closed the back of the SUV. He checked his watch. They had plenty of time before Miles would be ready with the surprise that Jonathan had been planning for weeks. His heart beat rapidly, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. _Everything will be alright. You're doing this for Jennifer. Everything will be fine_ , he told himself in a reassuring tone. He walked back up the steps of their ranch house just as Jennifer opened the door. She pulled her jacket on, giving him a big smile.

"I'm ready." She held up the carrot.

"Me too."

"What about breakfast?" She asked.

"It's all taken care of. Now then Mrs. Hart, shall we?"

They drove down through the hills of the property, taking in the beautiful scenery. Everything looked fresh and new in the early morning light. Though she would not consider herself a morning person, vistas like this were just too special to miss. She smiled and reached over, resting her hand on his.

They stopped beside a small stream in a remote clearing and he gave her hand a squeeze.

"Here we are." He reached for the door handle. Quickly, he made it around to the passenger side and helped Jennifer out.

"What a gorgeous morning." She surveyed the best nature had to offer.

"Breakfast is served." He said with a smile, as he pulled the picnic basket from the back of the vehicle.

"Darling, this is really sweet of you but I still don't understand what the carrot has to do with a picnic."

"That's because this is just breakfast. It's not the surprise. Food first, then the surprise." Jonathan unfolded the blanket and spread it out neatly on the grass.

Inside the basket, Jennifer found two Thermos bottles, along with many of her favorite treats.

"Max's scones? And you warmed them?" She smiled at him.

"Prepared with love." He smiled back.

"You aren't going to torture me with coffee, are you?" She reached for a Thermos.

"This one is my coffee. The other is hot chocolate." He pointed to the second one with a smile.

"With a dash of almond?"

"Just the way you like it." He grinned.

"You're spoiling me, you know that don't you?"

"Of course I know it. I'm good at it and I love it."

The minutes disappeared, along with the morning dew on the grass, as they enjoyed breakfast and each other in the solitude of the quiet wood. The air was invigorating, and fall wrapped its crisp and inviting arms around them. Jonathan couldn't help staring at her. The rays of sunlight moved through her hair and she glowed, as the beams created a halo around her head. His eyes traveled down to her hands and the fingers wrapped delicately around her mug. Her wedding ring winked up at him. _Is she really mine?_ It was a question he asked himself constantly. As he sipped his coffee, his thoughts traveled back in time to a woman in a wheelchair. He'd only seen her twice, once at the elevator and once in the park, but he knew. She'd changed him—just as easily as the seasons change, bringing with them a new beginning.

"You know what? I was wrong." He fixed his eyes firmly on her face.

"About what?" She asked.

"When I told you that my favorite season was spring. I was wrong."

"So what is your favorite season?"

"It's fall."

"Oh, I think I love fall too. Just the change in the air. There's something about it that makes you feel so refreshed." She breathed deeply, closing her eyes as she slowly exhaled.

"I love fall for a different reason." He reached and touched her cheek. "Your eyes are all the colors of fall. And your hair," Gently, he ran his fingers through it. "Leaves can only dream of turning this color."

"And don't forget Pumpkin here." She grinned, giving her belly a pat.

"Well, yes. Naturally, the Fruit of our labor is the best part of autumn." He placed his hand on top of hers.

"You know what's gonna happen when he gets here, don't you?"

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"You're gonna fall in love with spring all over again." She leaned forward and kissed him softly.

With another check of his watch, Jonathan knew it was time. He casually began repacking the picnic basket, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.

'What are you looking for?" Jennifer asked, scanning the trees behind them.

"Well, the surprise should be here any minute."

"The surprise is coming to us?" She asked.

"You got the carrot, right? 'Cause it might not start without the key." Jonathan gave her a grin.

"It's in the car." She motioned. As soon as the words left her mouth, she saw them. Jonathan's good friend Miles walked toward them, leading two beautiful horses—all saddled and ready to go.

"Oh my God." Jennifer pushed herself up before Jonathan could offer her any assistance. He'd shared many wonderful surprises with her in their months together, but this one touched her in a way she couldn't describe. Especially since riding was a delicate subject between them. He quickly grabbed her hand, forcing her to take a step back toward him. Taking her shoulders in his hands, he turned her around. His eyes were serious, and he held her tightly.

"Now you must promise me. No horsing around. We're going to go for a serene and peaceful ride." His tone was direct and Jennifer knew better than to joke around with her response.

"I wouldn't do anything to put myself or this precious cargo in danger. You have my word."

"I know you wouldn't but I just had to say it anyway." He kissed her once more. "Are you surprised?" He whispered.

"You must really love me."

"I really do."

Miles held the reins while Jonathan gave Jennifer a leg up. She hadn't been on a horse since she'd fallen at the polo match. She'd wanted desperately to ride one when she and Jonathan bought the horses just weeks before their wedding. But he'd been too fearful, insisting that she wait a little while longer. Jennifer hadn't been out of physical therapy that long. They'd had their first and only argument over it. _Why are you treating me like a child?_ She'd hollered at him from across the stables. She'd made a scene and it wasn't until they got home that she finally admitted that she'd acted like a child. _Darling, I only want what's best for you. Just a few more months, and then I promise you can ride again_. She could still hear his words, knowing deep down that everything he did for her was motivated solely by his protective love. Her heart was beating fast, but after a couple of deep breaths, the fresh air relaxed her, and her nervousness turned to anticipation. To be back up on a horse—it was something that many months before, from the view of her wheelchair, she would not have thought possible.

"Here's the steering wheel." Miles pulled the reins over the horse's head, and handed them to Jennifer.

"Thanks Miles. This is quite a surprise. Thanks for getting up so early to do this."

"Anything for you two." He smiled, before turning to Jonathan. "What time, Boss?"

"Give us a couple of hours, and we'll meet you back here. That sound okay?"

"That'll be fine." He gave Jonathan's horse a slap on the backside.

"The keys are in the car. Help yourself to anything at the cabin."

"Thanks, Jonathan. Will do." Miles turned and walked toward the Suburban.

"The carrot is a key! Of course. It makes perfect sense." She reached down to stroke the horse's neck. "You're so clever." Jennifer said, watching Miles drive away.

"Well, I know how much riding means to you."

"And won't it be fun to ride a horse for a change?" She winked at him.

"Don't get too comfortable in that saddle. I might just have a carrot to start your engine later." He winked back, quoting a well-known image from his favorite Larry McMurtry novel.

"Promises, promises." She answered.

As they turned the horses toward the trail, Jennifer rode up beside him, reaching out for his arm.

"Darling?"

"Yes?" He looked into her autumn eyes.

"I can't tell you how much this means to me. Thank you."

Softly, he stroked her hair before pulling her head toward his. He found her lips and kissed her several times.

"I just want you to be happy."

XXXXXXXXXX

The sun was beginning to set and Jennifer and Jonathan were completely relaxed in the oversized hammock on the porch. The morning spent on horseback had been exhilarating, and Jennifer couldn't remember when she'd felt more free. The thoroughbred within her wanted to break free and take her horse to the limit. But her love for Jonathan and their baby kept her desires in check. He'd kept his promise to her and she kept hers as well. Serene and peaceful, Jonathan had said. And it had been just that. They'd barely talked during the ride. The fact that they could communicate without words once again affirmed the strength of their relationship. Instead, they'd spent the morning quietly observing the world waking up around them. It was peaceful and serene— exactly the way Jennifer hoped her life would one day be.

Carefully, Jonathan pulled her boots off. They sat on opposite ends of the hammock, facing each other. Jonathan chewed on a toothpick, gently rubbing her feet and thinking back on the perfect day that would soon become the perfect night. She could tell he was lost in thought, but the smile on his face assured her that they were nothing but good ones.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You." He answered, balancing the toothpick in his teeth. "I'm really proud of you."

"For what?"

"For not running the Kentucky Derby this morning. I know you wanted to."

"What are you talking about?" She asked.

"Oh c'mon. I was watching you. You can't hide that little mischievous streak from me."

"Honestly, Jonathan, I don't know—"

He interrupted her, still smiling. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You get that look."

"What look?"

"That look you had when we were about to cross that pasture. I know you were dying to race me."

"No I wasn't." She half-laughed, shaking her head.

"And I also saw you eyeing that fallen tree. Oh, how you wanted to show off and jump it!"

Jennifer shook her head again. "I did not."

"Yes you did. Just admit it."

"I will not." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Fine. But I know you."

"First of all, I wouldn't dare challenge you to a race when it's my first time back on a horse since my fall."

"Well, I'm glad you're thinking of your own well-being."

"I'm not thinking of my well-being. I'm thinking of yours. I couldn't show you up that way."

Jonathan laughed. "Show me up? I don't think so."

"Darling, I was practically born on the back of a horse."

"Well, I hope you're not planning to birth our baby on the back of one."

She paused a moment, allowing her hands to rest quietly on her baby bump.

"Can you believe we're halfway there?"

"Any second thoughts about the name?"

"None. How 'bout you?"

"You know, I thought about the name this morning during the ride. I kept saying it over and over, I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I think it's a great name. It reminds me of Max too." Jonathan thought back to the conversations he shared with Max in the hospital.

"Now we have to decide on a middle name." She sighed.

"Un-uh. No way." He shook his head definitively. "Let's just enjoy the victory of conquering the first name for a while."

"You're right. You're absolutely right. No rush." She smiled, tucking one hand under her head and closing her eyes. They sat together, listening to the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. Jonathan continued to gently massage her feet, and she could feel herself starting to slip away—her body relaxing and moving enthusiastically toward moments of sleep. Jonathan's hands could stimulate her in ways she'd never experienced, and yet, the softness of his touch could calm her, taking her to a place of total tranquility. The early morning ride, the trip into town, fishing at their favorite spot—they'd gone full speed for the entire day, until now. _I don't think I have the strength to make it outta this hammock_. This last thought faded as quickly as it had entered her mind and Jennifer relinquished, giving herself over to much needed rest.

"What about James?" Jonathan broke the silence, bringing Jennifer back to consciousness.

"Hmm?"

"James."

"James who?"

"No, the name James—for a middle name, I mean." He continued to chew on the toothpick.

"Jonathan, what happened to enjoying the victory for a while?" She opened a sleepy eye and gave him a look.

"Oh right. Sorry, Darling." He gave her foot a loving pat.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Hey Champ!_

 _Dad's Advice: It's the little things._

 _My greatest desire for you in your life is to be able to spend your days with someone that you love beyond words. Life is not measured by the size of your bank account—believe me, money can NOT buy happiness. I know that for a fact because I spent years trying. It can't buy you health, true friendship or peace of mind. It can make you comfortable, but there are greater things in life than comfort. Loving a woman who loves you can bring you the greatest joy in the world. And that's why you have to treat the woman who shares her life with you in a completely different manner than you treat the rest of the world. You can be tough in business and fearless in competition but when it comes to the lady in your life, you have to show her something that no one else ever has. Fortunately, when you find that special someone, that's all you'll want to do. And that's why it's important for you to remember how much the little things you do for her count. Now I'm not referring to manners like I discussed earlier. I mean taking time, putting forth extra effort, showing her that she's different and more special than all the rest of the women in the world. Show her how much she means to you by surprising her with a funny card or a sentimental gift. Sing her a silly song and dance her around the kitchen. Sit on a porch together at sunset. Wake her up early and take her horseback riding. It doesn't matter—as long as your motives are driven by love._

 _We're still here at the cabin. Mommy is asleep on in the hammock on the porch. She's worn out. We were up late last night, and then up for a ride early this morning. After lunch, we went into town to do some shopping. Then, we tried a bit of fishing. But no luck. I should just tell you now that your Old Man is not a very good fisherman. But there's something relaxing about fishing that makes it all worth it, even if I come home empty handed nine times out of ten. It wouldn't matter anyway. I doubt Mommy would know how to cook any fish I brought back._

 _I surprised your mom with a horseback ride this morning. She hasn't been on a horse since her accident on the polo field a while back. I was so scared but I know it was something that I had to face. It's not because I don't think your mother is a good rider. She's an excellent rider. Grandpa was trotting around with her in his lap from the time she was just a few months old. I just can't stand the thought of your mother being hurt. She was in a wheelchair when I met her, remember? And she's come so far in just a short time. I don't want to think about any setbacks, you know? But that comes with the territory. When you love someone the way I love your mother, naturally you worry about them. And of course, she has to be especially carefully since she's carrying you. I couldn't stop thinking about you this morning during the ride—every time the light bounced off the water or Mommy's hair. We finally decided on a name for you. And we're not telling anyone—especially that sly grandfather of yours! It's about time your mother and I had something to surprise everyone with. And the greatest thing about your name is that your mom and I found it in a book that my good friend Doc gave us. We just opened it up, stuck our finger on the page and boom! There it was—your name. Well, your first name anyway. The jury is still out on a middle name. What do you think about the name James? I've always been a big Jimmy Stewart fan. And Mommy already vetoed Duke, so John Wayne is out. Uncle Max really wants us to name you Jonathan but I don't know about the whole father-son-pass-the-name-down thing. Mommy and I talked about it for a long time and decided that you should have your own name and your own destiny. I don't want people making judgments about you based on having my name. You will be your own man with your own name. And I know you will make a name for yourself in this world. Just make sure that you do so with honesty, integrity, and virtue._

 _Listen, Buddy, it's starting to get cold out here. I better wake Mommy up and get her inside. I hate to wake her—she looks so peaceful and beautiful. I can never decide if she's more beautiful asleep or awake._

 _Goodnight! I love you!_

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jennifer, wake up. Let's go inside." He gave her shoulder a nudge. She'd only been asleep for about half an hour, but he could tell that she was sleeping soundly. The sun was gone, and the calm breeze had turned cooler. Time for dinner and a fire, he thought, eager to curl up with her again and enjoy their last night in the Hill Country. Bending down, he whispered another wake up call in her ear. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"What?" She seemed disoriented.

"Let's go inside. It's getting too cold out here."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. It's not late though."

"How long have I been asleep?" She asked.

"Not long. About thirty minutes."

"I forgot where I was."

"I kidnapped you, remember? Whisked you away to our hidden retreat." His blue eyes sparkled in the overhead porch light.

She studied his eyes with a look of heavy reflection. "Oh yes, I remember you. You're the one that seduced me on the kitchen floor."

"And in front of the fireplace." He smiled down at her.

"Well, I guess that leaves the bedroom and the bathroom. We wouldn't want the other rooms to feel left out."

"Race you to the shower!" Jonathan hopped up, jogging in his boots to the door. He turned and smiled just before the screen door slammed behind him.

"No fair!" She hollered back at him. Carefully, she shifted her weight and gently rolled herself off the hammock. _I don't think we're going to take a turn on you._ She yawned and picked up her boots. Just inside the doorway, she was greeted with a trail of Jonathan's clothes, making a jumbled path to the bedroom door. Jennifer collected each item as she made her way to the bedroom. She could hear the water running in the shower. Dumping his clothes on the floor beside their bags, she quickly undressed—eager to join him. Inside the bathroom, she stood quietly at the vanity removing her jewelry and listening to Jonathan hum his new favorite song. _That man gets a song in his head and sings it for days_. Turning to the shower, she pulled the curtain back and peeked inside with a smile.

"Ah Gretel! I see you followed the trail of crumbs." He offered Jennifer his hand and helped her into the shower.

"I hope this is not the type of fairy tale that you'll be teaching our son."

"You don't like my X-rated fairy tales?"

'I didn't say I didn't like them. I just want you to keep them G-rated for the boy." She leaned her head back, allowing the warm water to wash down her hair.

"He's my son. He'll have inherent knowledge of the X-rated versions."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She grinned at him then reached for the shampoo. He caught her hand, taking the bottle from her.

"Allow me." He squeezed shampoo into his hand.

"Now this kind of spoiling I won't complain about." She closed her eyes, relaxing as she once again fell under the spell of his gentle touch.

"It's amazing." He continued to massage her scalp.

"What's amazing?"

"It happens every time I take a shower with you."

"What?"

"I get clean and dirty at the same time." He tipped her head back in his hands, allowing the water to wash down over her hair.

"Jonathan …" She opened her eyes, giving him a knowing look.

"Now then," Jonathan picked up the bar of soap, rubbing it in his hands. "how about I tell you a story?" He gently rubbed Jennifer's pregnant belly with his soapy hands. He was totally enamored with her expanding waistline, and when he didn't have his hands upon it, he was constantly thinking about having his hands upon it. All of his favorite parts were fuller—her face, her lips, her breasts, and that glorious mid-section. _How can anything in the world compare, in terms of beauty, with a pregnant woman?_

"A story, huh? Fiction or non-fiction?" She ran her hands across his bare, wet chest.

"A fairy tale just for you. I'll even let you pick." He moved his hands from her belly to her breasts, cupping them tenderly as his thumbs drew circles around her nipples. "Would you like to hear Little Red Riding Him or Jonathan and His Beanstalk?"

Jennifer laughed out loud. "Hmm, that's a tough choice. She glanced down and laughed again. "Maybe Pinocchio wants to tell me a lie."

XXXXXXXXXX

The fire crackled and hissed, and Jennifer fluffed the pillows on their new love nest. The layers of blankets and sleeping bags from the night before had been replaced, as Jonathan pulled the mattress from their bed in front of the fireplace for maximum comfort.

"Dinner is served." He handed her a large tray before settling in next to her.

"This looks wonderful."

"Are you sure you don't want something more substantial?"

"After that huge lunch? No, this is perfect."

"Wait! I forgot our drinks." He crawled off the mattress and returned to the kitchen.

Jennifer eyed the tray with a smile, noting the special effort he'd made in the presentation. _How does he do it?_ She wondered. _He can make a tray of cheese and fruit look like something straight from Room Service at the Waldorf?_

"You know something? I think Max should've given the cookbook to you instead of me." She took the glass of sparkling cider from him when he returned from the kitchen.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well just look at this tray. It's perfect."

"It's all about presentation. Gotta look good. But you haven't tasted it yet so don't jump to conclusions."

"No, it's all about effort. You always make that extra effort to make me feel special."

"I do it because I want to. And because it comes naturally to me now."

"Listen..." She looked down, twisting her wedding ring around on her finger. "The riding today, that was really special. I know that it was hard for you to watch me get up on horseback after everything I went through and now that I'm pregnant. And especially after the argument we had about it." She looked at him, the autumn tone of her eyes turning dark.

"When in doubt, I play the trust card. I trust you."

"I know you do. But that didn't make it any easier now, did it?"

"I have only one regret about it." His voice took on a more somber tone.

"What's that?"

"That I forgot to bring the damn camera. My God Jennifer, you looked so beautiful. The way the sun was shining in your hair—it was like you had this halo of light around you. I don't know if it was the sun, or just the fact that you were so happy to be riding again, or a combination of the two. But you were glowing in a way I've never seen before."

"I don't think it had anything to do with the sun or the ride. I glow—and I've been glowing, for months now. I think it all started on a plaid blanket under the stars. I'm just afraid…" She stopped, staring into the fireplace.

"Afraid of what?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"You can't tell me that you're afraid of something, then not tell me what."

Jennifer hesitated, taking a sip of her cider. She continued to study the flames for a moment before she answered him.

"Do you ever get the feeling that you're living a charmed life?" She asked.

"Define charmed."

"Do you ever think that your life is just too good?"

"You mean waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop?"

"Exactly." She nodded.

"No." He answered emphatically.

"Not even a little bit?"

"I prefer to think of my life as blessed, not charmed. Charms can wear off, but a blessing can last forever."

"I guess this whole pregnancy thing has caused my worrying hormones to kick into overdrive. I worry all the time."

"Why have you never told me?"

"Well, I don't know. Mostly because I'm sure that most of my fears are irrational ones."

"Such as?"

"I have this fear of something happening to you or the baby." Her eyes wandered back to the fire.

"Nothing's going to happen to us." He placed his hand lovingly on her stomach.

"I know. That's the irrational part."

"Look, suddenly the focus has shifted. We start off in this life thinking only about ourselves, our path, and what we want. Then, if we're really lucky, we meet someone and start a life with them. And if we're truly blessed, we create a new life. Then, we have others to consider—and that's when the worry starts."

"What if I can't do this?"

"What if you can't do what?"

"What if I'm not cut out for this whole mothering thing?"

"Jennifer, look at the way you love me. You have so much to give this baby. Now c'mon, what's going on? I haven't heard you having doubts like this. What's wrong?"

"I don't know…" She averted her eyes again, hiding her gaze back in the fireplace.

"Jennifer, don't tell a Pinocchio a lie. I can spot 'em a mile away."

She smiled, knowing he was trying to lighten her suddenly solemn mood.

"I've just been thinking a lot about my mom and dad. They had it all and it was taken away."

Jonathan turned his eyes to the fireplace. "Can I tell you a story? A real story?"

"Of course." She turned her eyes back to his, noting a serious but loving look.

"The morning after I proposed to you, Dr. Walsh came in and kicked me out of your room, remember?"

"Yes."

"Well, he told me the pathology report was in and I was a nervous wreck. I went to see Max. You were still asleep. I asked Max about Maggie—his wife that was killed about a month after they were married. He never talked about her much, because I knew it was too painful for him. But I was so afraid of what the report might say—so afraid that I might be losing you. I just had to talk to Max about it. I asked him point blank if he'd go back and do it all again, knowing that he'd lose Maggie. And you know what he said?"

"No." Jennifer shook her head, listening intently.

"Faith is like electricity. You can't see it, but you can see the light." Jonathan imitated Max's voice.

"That's Max. So simplistic, yet so profound."

"Do you think your father or mother would choose a different path just because it ended sooner than they wanted?"

"Well, no…"

"He told me that he had a chance to be in the light with Maggie for a little while, and that some was better than none." He reached and brushed the hair off her forehead. "I bet your father wouldn't trade his days with your mother for anything. And I bet they didn't live their lives waiting for the other shoe to fall either. That's just not living."

"I know. You're right."

"But does this mean I don't worry about you, your safety, your well-being and about our baby? Of course I worry about you. Just like your mother and father worried about you and each other in the normal day to day."

"I'm still afraid that I drank too much in London at the beginning of the pregnancy. What if something…" Her voice trailed off.

"Jennifer, Dr. Sumner has taken two ultrasounds and his growth is right on target. We've seen his hands, his feet, his heart—even his little Beanstalk. He's fine."

"I guess I better get used to this worrying thing, huh? Just deal with it, is that it?"

"Just part of parenting, I guess."

"I prefer teddy bears and bedtime stories to all this worry."

"Well, I think I can help you out there." He gave her a wink and climbed out of bed. Jennifer continued to nurse her drink, watching the light of the flames making shadows on the walls. The moving shadows carried her mind back to the first night she and Jonathan made love. Alone in his room, with the small candle on the bedside table and jazz playing softly on the radio. Jonathan has always been my candle. My father was my mother's quiet horseman and Jonathan is my candle—always showing me the way with the light of his love.

Jennifer smiled, taking another sip of her cider and remembering a cherished quote by her dear Ms. Wharton. One she hadn't thought of in years, but one that defined the way she felt about Jonathan .

When he returned, he was carrying a book, wrapped with a light blue bow.

"What have you done?" She reached up for the book with a smile.

"Well, this is for all of us. I bought it on the way home from the office the other day. I would love to say that I loved this story as a kid, but I didn't read it until I was in college. The symbolism and the messages throughout this book are amazing."

"I can't believe it! You've done it again." She ran her hand across the cover.

"Done what?" He snuggled up beside her.

"Once again, you've gone and picked another story that haunts my past."

"Don't tell me that Elliot read this to you at bedtime."

"No, my mother read this to me when I was a girl. I always thought it was sort of a sad story. I guess because my mom always cried when she read it to me. It wasn't till I read it in high school for a French class that I really began to understand the meanings and lessons in St. Exupéry's words." She pulled the bow off and flipped through the pages.

"Well, I think it's a classic and we should read it to our son."

"Oh you got the French version. Did you mean to?"

"Of course. First of all, I think you should speak French to our son as much as possible. And Spanish, and Italian, and all the other wonderful languages you speak. He'll be multilingual by the time he reaches Kindergarten. Secondly, there's nothing sexier than listening to a beautiful woman reading aloud in French." He raised his eyebrows up and down.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _My Little Prince,_

 _We're home! We had a wonderful weekend at the cabin. Daddy is downstairs taking care of some urgent business that came up while we were gone. He said it was nothing but I could tell from his expression that it was something important. Your father is the king of keeping the office at the office. But sometimes, it just can't be avoided._

 _We're only home for a few days, and then we're flying to Maryland to have Thanksgiving with Grandpa. He hasn't seen my belly in weeks (except in photos, which your father insists on taking around the clock). I know he will be thrilled to see the progress we've made in person. We wanted Uncle Max to come with us, but he's flying to Seattle to spend Thanksgiving with his niece Sarah. We're still undecided as to where Freeway will be spending the holiday. I guess we'll let him flip a bone to decide who he's going with._

 _I almost gave away our secret last night. Daddy gave me a very special book. It's called The Little Prince. Sound familiar? My mother read that story to me hundreds of times when I was a little girl. That's why I call you my Little Prince. It's kind of like having a special connection between my mom and you. I like to think that my mom is in Heaven with you right now. I imagine that while I'm holding your body in mine, my mom is holding your spirit. And when you're born, she'll send your spirit down to us. I've been thinking about her a lot lately. I wish she could be here with me right now. If I close my eyes and try really hard, I can almost feel her hands on my belly—just the way she used to move her hands through my hair when I was a little girl. I talked to Daddy about it last night. He has the most amazing way of helping me see things in a new and wonderful light. Your father is my candle. He always shows me the light. He also tells me that I'm glowing and now I know why. He doesn't realize it, but he's seeing his own reflection. Edith Wharton once wrote, 'There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it.' What a blessing for me to reflect the glow of your father's love for me—for us._

 _Oh my goodness, I almost forgot to tell you. We went horseback riding yesterday. It was glorious! I haven't been riding for a very long time and how I've missed it. My horse is the most gorgeous Appaloosa. She's very gentle, and seemed to know that she was carrying extra special cargo. Your father has been very apprehensive about me getting back in the saddle (literally), but love won out over fear. Of course, now I'm dying to ride Sugarfoot when we get to Grandpa's. I'm not going to push it, though. Hopefully, Daddy will suggest that I take Sugarfoot for a spin when we get there. It's always better when Daddy thinks it's his idea._

 _Well, Little Man, it's time to turn in. As much as I love the ranch, it's nice to be back in our yummy bed. Hopefully your father won't be too much longer on his conference call._

 _I love you, my angel. Give your grandmother a big hug for me up there!_

 _All the love I can give (and a little bit more),_

 _Mommy_

 _XOXO_


	15. Chapter 15

_Dear Kid,_

 _First off, let me tell you that this is the only letter I've ever written to someone that's still in the process of being created. My name is Max and I'm your uncle. Well, actually, I'm not really your uncle. But close enough. You can call me Uncle Max, because that's what your mother and father call me. Also, I plan to wear the title with great pride._

 _I guess I should back up a little and start from the beginning. Well, maybe that's too far back. Let me just start from the point where I met your dad. Many years ago, when I was quite a bit younger and your father was just a kid, we ran into each other. And when I say we "ran into each other"—I mean literally. Your father was being chased down the sidewalk and he ran right into me as I was coming out of this bar. This young kid, your father, comes tearing around the corner and nails me. For a skinny little punk, he sure was solid. He knocked me clean to the ground. I'll never forget the look on his face. He was truly torn between helping a guy up or staying two steps ahead of his pursuer. Well, I recognized the look of fear in his eyes, so I scrambled back up on my feet and pulled him back inside the bar with me. We stayed inside for a while until we were sure that he'd avoid any further run-in with the guy on his tail. When the coast was clear, I took your dad back to my place and fixed us a nice dinner. And that was the night I met your dad. We talked for a long time that night about all sorts of things. I knew instantly from talking to him that he was one smart kid. Just barely eighteen, but already operating in an adult world with an adult mind. Now if you're wondering why your father was on the run, and who was chasing him you're going to have to ask him. It's his story, not mine. And his version might vary slightly, so I wouldn't want to give you the wrong information._

 _Your father was brought up by some real nice Christian ladies in an orphanage called Mission Street Home in San Francisco. He was quite a handful, as the story goes. He still is in a lot of ways. But I could see that your father had big potential to be someone and so I made sure to keep a close eye on him. Now as wonderful a man as he is today, he did not exactly start out being a pillar of the community. When I met him, he was running with a pretty sketchy crowd. Not much in terms of supervision. But your father had something else that most kids his age were in short supply of: thirst. He was thirsty to know everything. His brain was like a calculator. I've never known anyone to run numbers in their head like your dad. He's a born mathematician. And books. He read everything he could get his hands on. Still does. Then there's mechanics. He took apart every appliance in my apartment just to see what made it tick. Finally, he had what I like to refer to as "the gravy." On top of all his smarts, your father was a good-looking young man. Smarts and looks—your dad has plenty of both. The smarts brought him a boat load of cash, and his looks brought him a boat load of ladies. But again, if you want the details of either boat, you'll have to confer with the Captain—your father._

 _Your dad didn't have any family. He became a regular fixture around my place. He was just a kid, so I kind of took him under my wing. This was the period of my life when I like to refer to myself as "The Coach." I made it my mission to give your dad the best advice on anything and everything I could. He was golden and I wasn't about to let him blow it. Now most folks think I'm a little rough around the edges, and I guess I am. But I've read a few books in my day too, and had a good bit of wisdom to share. Your father used to jokingly refer to me as "Miss Porter"— a boarding school for girls. I made him follow strict rules of etiquette and conduct when we were together. And I must admit that my work has paid off. Your father can handle himself in any social situation known to man. I take full credit for that! Believe me, that young kid that ran over me in the street was no Little Lord Fauntleroy, but he's come a long way._

 _Now on the flipside of social graces, I also taught your father a thing or two about cards. Actually, to be honest, I just helped to hone his skills a little. He was certainly not a novice in that area when we met. In fact, his knack for hustling, if I recall correctly, is what sent him tearing down the sidewalk that fateful day. That mathematical mind of his made him a born card shark. I realize that this type of schooling goes directly against everything I outlined in my previous paragraph. Let's just say that I gave your father a well-rounded education. But eventually, I ran out of book smarts to share with him. So, I sent him off to college. Best money I ever spent. I haven't known many sure things in my life but I knew your dad was a sure thing if ever I saw one. My small investment of just a few thousand bucks has turned into a windfall that I can't even count. And the best part of all is that this has nothing to do with the monetary success your dad has enjoyed. I've been able to sit back and watch your dad grow into the kind of man that every father dreams his son will become. And that's without a doubt the greatest return on an investment I could hope for. I took him under my wing all those years ago, and now he's doing the same for me._

 _Okay, enough about your Old Man. Let's talk about your mother. I wish I could think of one word to describe her. But she's just so many things that one word isn't enough. I'm looking at her right now and so many words come to my mind. Beautiful. Graceful. Brilliant. Witty. Dedicated. Passionate. She's the perfect match for your father, in every sense. She's all the smarts, and the gravy too. Heavy on the gravy. I introduced your parents in a manner of speaking. Had it not been for me and an unfortunate accident, your father probably wouldn't have met your mother. Your mom and I were both patients at the same hospital at the UCLA Medical Center here in Los Angeles and that's how they met. I think your dad kissed your mom for the very first time in the hospital elevator but I'm not totally sure. It wouldn't surprise me though. Your mom was born and raised in Maryland, just outside of DC. Your grandfather, Stephen, raised your mom from the time she was in grammar school just after your grandmother passed away. Your mother can speak about a dozen languages and has this incredible knack for becoming an expert in just about everything she tries. Except in the kitchen. Your mom is not much of a chef. She's a published author and a fabulous photographer. She's traveled all over the world and has so many great adventure stories to share with you. Like your father, she loves books and is always reading something when she's not writing. And poker! The woman has a champion poker face. Don't let her innocent, lady-like persona fool you. She's savvy with the cards. But more than anything, your mother is one of the most caring, giving, loving individuals I've ever had the pleasure to know. Man are you lucky! I love going out to dinner or parties with your parents. They are the center of attention everywhere we go. I guess it's all the gravy between the two of them. They are a very striking couple. But aside from that, I think people are just fascinated by the connection they have. You can't be in the same room with them and not feel it. Your parents love for each other is almost infectious. You just feel better when you're around them. I'm telling you, Kid—you hit the jackpot with both of them. They say you can't pick your parents, but you'd definitely pick these two if you had the chance._

 _Listen, your mom needs to talk to me, so I better close and pay attention. I'll write more when I have a chance._

 _I don't care what we name you. You're going to be a winner!_

 _Love,_

 _Uncle Max_

"I'm sorry, Mrs. H, could you say that again?" He folded the letter and slipped it inside the pocket of his jacket, along with his pen.

"I want to give you the number. Of course, Jonathan and I will have our cell phones too if you need to reach us for anything." Jennifer handed a small slip of paper to him.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." He nodded, folding the paper and tucking it safely in his pocket alongside the letter.

"This will be the first time in a long time that we haven't carved a turkey together." Jonathan looked up at Max.

"Yeah, I know. But Sarah's been so good to me with my condition and all and I'm finally cleared to travel. I just can't believe it's been a year since I was in Seattle. She and Michael are really excited that we'll be together. And they can't wait to see Freeway again either." Max reached and stroked the dog's back.

"Are you sure you want to take Freeway with you?"

"Are you kiddin' me? You take your baby and I'll take mine." Max gave them a grin. "Besides, it's only for a few of days anyway."

Jonathan swiveled his chair around and eyed Max once again. For years, he'd shared a quiet meal of thanks each November with the man sitting across from him. Max had always wintered with him, trading off Christmas each year with Sarah. Looking at him now, almost back to one hundred percent in terms of his health, Jonathan couldn't help feeling somewhat sad that he'd be spending the holiday away from the friend he was most thankful for. But an answered prayer is an answered prayer. And Jonathan knew this was not the time to be stingy. He slipped away for a minutes, quietly remembering their first Thanksgiving together—the first holiday he'd spent with Max. Though their initial meeting was nothing more than chance, it had been the most memorable holiday he'd spent since his parents death.

Jennifer touched his arm, bringing his mind back to the present. "Are you okay?" She asked with eyes full of concern.

"Of course." He responded, showing her a big smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

Stephen sat tall in the saddle, watching as a black sedan made its way up the winding drive of his estate. He was instantly aware of two things: his heartbeat increased and his smile widened. With his quick jerk of his heels into her sides, Sugarfoot took off. Her smooth gait followed the path up the large, circular driveway. It had been well over a month since he'd seen his daughter and he couldn't wait to wrap his arms tightly around her.

The car stopped and Jonathan emerged from the driver's side first. Stephen hollered out to him, and his son-in-law waved hello in return. As the passenger side door opened, suddenly everything in Stephen Edwards's world shifted from a jaunty, mid-week ride to slow-motion. He was taken aback by the beauty that gracefully exited the car. Was the misty light of dusk playing tricks on his eyes, or did Suzanne just step from the vehicle? _It's incredible_ , he thought to himself. She swung her head around, smiling as she met her father's gaze. Her hair, with all its autumnal hues, had grown longer, now grazing her shoulders. She was dressed in classic Jennifer fashion looking more like an ad for a top magazine than a maternity boutique. Pulling back on the reins, he slowed Sugarfoot. With complete concentration, his eyes focused on her, committing the entire but brief scene to memory. Her eyes. Her smile. The now noticeable bump of the baby on board. His smile widened yet more, and another quick burst from Sugarfoot carried him to her. Once on his feet, he pulled her close.

"Hi Daddy." She whispered in his ear.

"Jennifer, you are an absolute vision." He squeezed her, as a lump found a comfortable spot in his throat.

"Hardly." She smiled at him.

"You doubt the word of your father?" He gave her a stern, yet teasing look.

"Probably not a smart move, huh?"

"Definitely not." He smiled and hugged her once more.

"Stephen, you look great." Jonathan said, extending his hand to his father-in-law.

"Jonathan, I don't know what you've been doing but don't stop. My girl here looks fabulous."

"Well, I wish I could take the credit. But I think you have yourself and Suzanne to thank for that. She was a vision long before I ever got my hands on her." His smile was playful and loving and still made Jennifer's heart turn a flip.

"She certainly was." Stephen turned his happy face back toward Jennifer. "Walter has been hard at work for days, getting all your favorites ready for dinner tomorrow."

"I'm sure it will be delicious." She answered.

"C'mon, you two. Let's get your things inside. I have a trip planned."

"A trip? But we just got here." Jennifer looked at her father, confused.

"I assure you that the commute is minimal." He gave her a wink.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Just give me a minute…" Stephen said, as he removed his glasses from his pocket and examined the projector.

"Daddy, this is wonderful. Where did you find these?" Jennifer looked up at her father, balancing a box filled with old photos on her lap.

"Well, when I went looking for the baby booties, I came across a few other treasures that we haven't seen in a while."

"And the home movies? I haven't seen these in years." She carefully placed the box on the floor beside her.

"I finally get to see a Jennifer Edwards I've never seen before." Jonathan said with a smile.

"Jonathan, would you get the lights?" Stephen asked.

"Certainly." Jonathan crossed the room and flipped the switch.

Within seconds, the paneled wall of the study was illuminated with grainy images of a young girl sitting on horseback. Her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail; her smile instantly pulling on your heart. She looked to be about fourteen years old. Fiery. Adventurous. Beautiful. The image changed and Jonathan stood frozen at the light switch, remembering the faded photo that Stephen had given him while Jennifer was in the hospital. That young, carefree girl in the white tee and jeans. Casual elegance, even back then, he thought. Jennifer motioned to him, and he joined her on the small, leather loveseat.

The minutes disappeared as the movies and stories carried them away to another place. Stephen narrated the trip back in time, with Jennifer making playful comments and corrections. Jonathan tried to focus on the pictures on the wall, but found his eyes moving back to the woman beside him. Watching the interactions between father and daughter was much more intriguing to him than the movies themselves. Again he fell under the spell of her laugh, her voice, and her hands—so delicate and expressive. They could tell a story all by themselves. He could still see the feminine grace with which her slender index finger circled the rim of her wine glass inside Nino's place. The same hands that touched him with loving abandon as a votive candle flickered in soulful rhythm beside his bed. Jennifer glanced his way, aware he was watching her instead of the movie. Immediately she could sense it: that thing between them that escaped definition and defied explanation. With a shy smile, she slipped her hand inside his with a tight squeeze. They sat in the study, laughing and reminiscing, until Walter called them for dinner.

"Well Jonathan, I hope we didn't bore you with our trip down memory lane." Stephen patted his son-in-law's arm as he walked toward the study door.

"If it involves your daughter, there's no way I could be bored." He gave Jennifer a wink.

"Now I don't know if Jennifer has told you, but we have a few Edwards family traditions around here that we observe each Thanksgiving."

"Actually, no." He shook his head and looked at his wife.

"Tonight after dinner, we'll have a game of Monopoly. Loser does the dishes tomorrow. A treat for Walter since he'll have spent all day cooking. Tomorrow morning, a light breakfast, followed by a brisk ride. Then the turkey will be served around two o'clock. After that, football and naps all around. Before retiring, a Scrabble tournament complete with Walter's famous turkey sandwiches."

"Sounds good to me." Jonathan nodded with a smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Two, three, four, five. Marvin Gardens. I'll take that one as well." Stephen moved his horse and rider marker around the board. Smiling, he began counting out the brightly colored bills.

"Daddy! You're killing us." Jennifer looked down at the few bills in front of her.

"It's just a game, my dear." He took another sip of his martini.

"Jonathan, if you don't do something, we'll be on dish duty tomorrow. Roll." She handed her husband the dice. He took them from her, blowing coolly on them before rolling. He quickly eyed the board before moaning and moving his top hat marker into position.

"I believe that puts you right on Park Place, my boy." Stephen smiled.

"But I'm getting the family discount, right?" Jonathan asked.

"I don't have to tell a sharp business man such as yourself the rules of mixing business with family." Stephen held out his hand, eagerly anticipating his payment.

"That leaves me with fifty bucks." He gently fanned himself with the fake bill and smiled at Jennifer.

"Great." She rolled her eyes and picked up the dice. Frowning, she moved her Scottie dog along the board.

"Boardwalk, my dear." Stephen smirked before finishing off his second martini.

"But I'm your flesh and blood."

"Cough it up, Darling." He held out his greedy hand toward his daughter.

Jennifer counted out the last of her bills, shaking her head in disgust.

"What's that leave you with?" Jonathan asked.

"I got ten bucks." She held up the last of her currency.

"Let's see. For sixty bucks, I can put you two up for the night on Baltic or Mediterranean. Of course, it's not the best part of town. And you'll have to bring your own sheets."

"But I want to stay on Boardwalk with the four hundred thread count Egyptian cotton linens." She wined.

"It's a dollar for every thread." Stephen winked.

Jonathan checked his watch, ready to call it a night. "We can slum it for one night." He snatched Jennifer's ten, and handed it to Stephen, along with his fifty. "We'll take your best room sir. After all, my wife is with child."

"Yes she is. And you're going to make your future grandchild sleep in the slums?" She folded her arms across her chest in playful protest.

"Listen, if Jesus can sleep in a barn, you can handle one night on Baltic."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer quickly checked the alarm clock beside the bed then slipped her hand under her pillow. All set, she thought with a grin, looking around her childhood bedroom. She could hear him humming and brushing his teeth just a few feet away from her and it made her smile. She hummed along as she flipped back the cuffs of his pajama top.

"Do you need anything?" Jonathan asked, as he crossed the bedroom toward her.

"Just you."

"What a fabulous dinner." He sighed as he pulled the sheet back and slipped in beside her.

"Walter certainly hasn't lost his touch."

"I don't know how he'll top that tomorrow."

"Trust me, he will. Just remember one thing."

"What's that?"

"The turkey."

"What about the turkey?"

"My father carves the turkey."

"Okay."

"He's very methodical about it."

"Okay."

"I just don't want you to be offended if he doesn't offer to let you carve it."

"You're forgetting that I've celebrated Thanksgiving with a master bird man for years. Max never let me carve the turkey either."

"Really?"

"He tried to teach me once, but he's not the most patient person in the kitchen."

"Tell me about it." She nodded.

"I guess he made it in alright. I thought he'd call." Jonathan reached for his cell phone.

"I'm sure he's fine. Sarah would've called us if they'd had any problems."

"You're right." Jonathan spoke quietly and replaced the phone on the bedside table.

"Are you alright?" Jennifer asked.

"Of course. I'm fine. Why?"

"Well, you just seem out of sorts. Since we landed, I mean."

Jonathan paused a moment before responding. "Have you ever been driving somewhere, completely engrossed in thought, and then realize that you haven't been paying attention to the road and then suddenly wonder how you arrived at your destination?"

"Yes."

"That's how I've been feeling today."

"What do you mean?"

"Before we left the house, I was thinking about the first Thanksgiving I spent with Max. I was just a kid then. Now fast-forward to today and I'm spending Thanksgiving with you and your father and we're going to be parents in just a few months. How did I get here? How did it go by so fast? And before we know it, our little guy will be spending Thanksgiving somewhere with his family and Max will be watching me butcher a bird from somewhere above."

"You know, you always hear people talking about 'how fast they grow up' and it really is true. I can remember those times in the movies we just watched like they were yesterday."

"About those movies…" He snuggled up to her, pulling her body close to his.

"They were pretty silly, huh?"

"Silly? They're fantastic."

"I know it made my father happy to be able to relive all that with us here."

"He is so proud of you, Jennifer."

"I know he is. And everyday that goes by, I understand his love for me more and more." She placed her hand on her pregnant belly.

"It's a good thing that I didn't meet up with you back then."

"Why is that?"

"How old were you in that first reel we watched? When you were riding Nellie? About fourteen?"

"That was the summer before I turned fourteen."

"So you were just thirteen?" He asked, amazed.

"Yes. Why?"

"Let's just say that had I laid eyes on you back then, I would've gone directly to jail, without passing Go and without the two hundred dollars."

"I was just a little girl, Jonathan."

"No you weren't. You were just as beautiful then as you are now."

"I was a little girl up here." She placed her finger on her temple, tapping it several times.

"Well, you're not a little girl anymore." He slid his hand underneath the pajama top, resting it on her belly.

"I'm all grown up."

"Seeing you back then and the way the sun shined on your ponytail. There's a tiny part of me that secretly wishes we were having a little girl. Is that bad?"

"No, it's not bad. Maybe next time." She smiled up at him.

"Really?" He sat up. "Just a few nights ago you were telling me that you didn't know if you could do this. And now, you're ready to be a baby factory?"

"Now wait a minute. I never said factory. But maybe one more. A boy and a girl. That's the million dollar family. It's what every little girl dreams of."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _"Jonathan, where are you?" She hollered out. The lights inside were dim, making her search for him that much more difficult. Though she'd been inside the auction house thousands of times, she found she was unable to navigate through the maze of furnishings, artwork and rare collectibles. She stopped sharply when she heard a baby crying out._

 _"I'm coming, Sweetheart. Mommy's coming." She could feel the urgency to get to him as her heart pounded inside her. Where is Jonathan? She thought with a mix of anger and worry. Carefully, she opened the door to the storage area. It was well lit, but littered with more of worldly treasures, making her search more complicated. An eerie feeling fell over her, as she climbed over a mass of bright white, child sized rocking chairs and tricycles. Discarded baby beds, toys trains and stuffed bears blocked her path and the sounds of a crying baby continued to grow. I'm coming…I'm coming! Pushing and shoving, she began to slowly make some headway. Hot tears of frustration made lines on her cheeks as the storage room grew longer and longer._

 _"Jennifer…Jennifer…" He called her name._

 _"Jonathan, where are you?" She called back, her voice cracking._

 _"I've got him. We're right here—by the window." He answered._

 _Though his voice was calm and clear, she had no idea from which direction it came. Looking around, she found she was suddenly surrounded by hundreds of bright white window panes, all hanging quietly in mid air._

 _"Which window Jonathan? I can't see you?" Her voice echoed with the sound of desperation._

 _"By the rocking chair, Darling. We're by the rocking chair. Just turn around."_

 _Spinning around, she saw it. A tiny white rocking chair sat below a tiny white window frame—no glass, no baby, and no Jonathan. It resembled a simple artist's vignette; minimalistic and surreal. Slowly she walked down a narrow pathway between a sea of broken strollers and baby swings toward it. The sound of a baby's cry were now muffled and restrained, as though trapped inside a bottle. The tears continued to fall, and as much as she wanted to run, her legs were slow and heavy._

 _"I can't make it! I can't make it!" She cried out._

 _"I'm here."_

 _She heard his voice behind her and turned sharply around to him. He stood before her; a foreboding look in his blue eyes and a snow white dove in his hands._

 _"I've got him, Darling. He's right here. He's fine." Looking down at the bird, he smiled._

 _"But where's the baby?" She asked, confused._

 _"He's right here. And he's going to be okay. Just trust me." At that moment, the ceiling above them melted away and Jennifer looked up at an ominous, cMaxdy sky. In the moment that followed, she realized his intention, and lunged forward. But she was too late. Jonathan tossed his hands to the sky, releasing the dove._

Jennifer's body jerked and instantly she was awake. Sweat covered her face, neck and chest like a wet blanket. She lay in the darkness of her childhood bedroom for several minutes, trying to calm her breathing without waking Jonathan. _It's just another crazy dream_. Like a detective, she tried to piece together the conversations that had occurred over the past few days. _Everything was white. What does that mean? All the broken baby things? No clue. An auction house? Could mean anything. The dove? We talked about the turkey and Max being a master bird man. Who knows?_

After a few more minutes, she checked the clock. Less than an hour until the alarm was set to sound. Quietly, she slid out of bed, picking up the blue pajama top and sponging her brow with it. She tiptoed in the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. It only took her a few minutes to dress and she returned to the bedroom carrying her boots. Jonathan was sleeping soundly. She smiled and stood next to the bed watching him. His dark hair had fallen down on his forehead and he looked like a little boy. Checking the clock once more she hesitated, ready to scrap the whole idea and climb right back in beside him. Instead, she slipped her hand underneath her pillow and placed the clues on the bedside table by the clock. Without a sound, she blew him a kiss then tiptoed downstairs.

She was surprised to find the light in the study still burning when she passed the door. There sat her father, asleep in his favorite leather chair. His glasses were barely balancing on the end of his nose and a stack of stationary sat on his lap. On the floor beside him she spied a pen, lost as his grip gave way to rest. His late night attempt at letter writing had failed, as sleep had taken over his aged body. Jennifer pulled a wool blanket from the back of the loveseat and walked to her father. Gently, she removed his glasses and placed them on the small table beside his chair. Reaching for the monogrammed papers in his hand, she stopped when she saw the name of the recipient on the first line: My Dear Boy. Curiosity gave way to the rules of privacy, and Jennifer sat down on the floor beside her father's chair and read the words he'd written to her unborn son.

 _My Dear Boy,_

 _I know that it will be years before you are old enough to read the words of a silly old man. However, being that I'm your only living grandparent, I feel that it's my responsibility to get my thoughts down before my time expires. I am Stephen Edmund Edwards and I am blessed and honored to be your mother's father. I must admit that this is now my third attempt to pen something meaningful and worthwhile to you. I may fail again miserably. But for argument sake, and for the sanity of an old man, let's agree to allow the rules of gift-giving to apply in this case and say that it's "the thought that counts."_

 _I could bore you with all the details of my life and my upbringing, but I won't. In fact, my first two letters were comprised of just that—a complete history of the Edwards family. Factual. Straightforward. Dull. It finally occurred to me today to tell you about something much more exciting and important to me than where I came from and that's where you came from: your amazing and beautiful mother._

 _Your mother and father told me several weeks ago that they were expecting you. Actually, I guessed that you were on the way. Your mother was glowing. I knew it the moment I saw her when I arrived in Los Angeles. Now it's Thanksgiving and your parents are here visiting me, and I can't believe the change that has occurred in just a few short weeks. The evidence of your residence is now apparent to me for the first time, and your mother is absolutely radiant. From the moment she stepped from the car, it occurred to me that I can literally refer to every phase of her life as her "most beautiful." She was the most beautiful baby. The most beautiful young girl. The most beautiful teen. The most beautiful young woman. The most beautiful bride. And now, the most beautiful expectant mother. Am I biased? You bet I am! But I'm also honest and I have thousands that can substantiate these claims. But you'll know it too. She'll be the most beautiful Mommy, I have no doubt._

 _When your mother was about six years old, I knew exactly the type of person she'd grow to be. They say a person's character is fully developed by the time they start school, and I agree. We had been out riding one morning, just the two of us. From the time she was just a toddler your mother has been an excellent horsewoman. I've always suspected that if your mother were an animal, she'd be a horse. She's loved animals for as long as I can remember. Well, on this particular morning, Jennifer and I spied a family of bunnies in an old hollow tree and_

She checked the remaining sheets, but all were blank. Smiling, she placed them on the table beside the glasses. As quietly as she could, she turned off the reading lamp and exited her father's study wiping traces of tears from her eyes.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jennifer, will you turn that off?" Jonathan whispered in the darkness. Receiving no response, he turned over to find her spot empty and cold. The alarm clock continued to sound noisily and he had no idea how to turn it off. After pressing all buttons and flipping all switches, he relented and turned on the lamp. A few seconds passed as his eyes adjusted to the light. He quieted the alarm and laughed when he saw a carrot and a note on the bedside table.

 _It is said that Turnabout_

 _Is fair play_

 _So it's up before the sun_

 _On Thanksgiving Day_

 _My secret spot_

 _You have yet to see_

 _The Swiss Army will ensure_

 _It's forever you and me_

 _So come to my place_

 _Let the carrot be your key_

 _Where a tree grows tall and strong_

 _Just like my love for Thee_

Jonathan flipped the paper over, surprised to find a neatly drawn map of the Edwards estate on the other side. Suddenly, the playfulness of her riddle turned his stomach and a wave of fear ran through him. He hurriedly pulled his pants on, grabbing his boots and jacket as he ran out Jennifer's bedroom door. The house was quiet. He bolted down the stairs two at a time. Once outside the front door, he headed briskly toward the paddock. It was still dark outside—a fact that made him even more fearful. _Maybe she's waiting for me_ , he thought to himself. He increased his pace even more, and now found he was running. The light in the barn was on, but he knew she wasn't there.

He found a gorgeous Quarter Horse, saddled and tied, just inside the barn. Quickly he led her outside the paddock then checked the sky. The first light of dawn was just beginning to break on the horizon. He decided to forego the map, relying on his memory of Jennifer's secret spot by the pond. Stephen had driven him down near there back in the early summer. Swinging his leg up over the mare's back, he took off in what he felt was the right direction. The sky would soon tell him if his instincts were correct.

 _Damn it, Jennifer!_ He thought to himself. _Why the hell would you do something this stupid and this dangerous? I cannot understand why in God's name you would pull a stunt like this. What the hell are you thinking? You're damn right I'm upset! I will not calm down! Do you realize the danger you've put yourself in? Or our child? He doesn't get a choice, does he? He's just a passenger._

Jonathan ran through the various phrases he felt would surely be flying from his lips the moment he found her. The more he thought about what she'd done, the angrier he became. He'd never lost his temper with her—even when they'd argued over their recent horse purchase. Jennifer argued and he'd listened. But this time she'd gone too far. And this time she'd be the one listening. The light continued to grow around him. He'd been riding only a few minutes. He saw a ridge ahead of him and felt his memory kick into gear. He turned the horse to the east, and galloped through dense woods. It's just up ahead. On the other side there should be a clearing. The low-lying branches brushed against his shoulders and he flipped up his collar to protect his face. It was cold and the wind found it's way through his jacket. He hadn't bothered with a shirt. There hadn't been time. The thickness of the trees began to turn thin and he could see the clearing in front of him. He dug his heels into the mare's sides, leaning into her head. Then, as if a veil had been lifted, the trees disappeared behind him. Once in the clearing, he filled himself with a much needed breath, certain that he'd barely breathed upon mounting the horse. The chilly autumn air burned his insides, like tiny needles piercing his lungs. Squinting, he could just make out her silhouette in the distance on the far side of the pond. Again he leaned into the horse, willing her to move faster. When Jennifer finally came into sharp focus, he could see that she was standing and waving with a bright smile on her face. Sugarfoot was tied to a tree on a long lead rope, grazing casually. Jonathan pulled back on the reins, slowing the mare's gait from full-out emergency to proceed with caution. When his eyes met Jennifer's, she was immediately aware that something was wrong and her smile from moments before vanished like a stone dropped in a muddy stream.

"Jonathan what's wrong?" Her voice was full of alarm as an image of her father slumped over in his leather chair clouded her mind.

He didn't respond. He was relieved that she was alright, but still filled with rage at her reckless behavior. After dismounting, he tied the mare beside Sugarfoot, trying his best to collect the jumble of accusatory bullets he was set to fire on his wife.

"Darling, what is going on?" She pleaded again.

"You know exactly what's going on!" He hollered.

"Oh my God! Is it my father?" She felt her throat closing up.

"No it's not your father. What the hell are you thinking?"

"What are you talking about?" Her eyes were full of confusion and fear at his tone.

"I'm talking about you, Jennifer. What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I was waiting for you…" Her voice trailed off as a shiver ran through her. She'd never seen him angry.

"So that's it? You were just waiting for me, is that it? Wrong! Try again."

"You're scaring me, Jonathan. What is wrong?"

"You don't know?" He hollered again.

"If you could just calm down for a min—"

"Calm down? You want me to calm down? You sneak out of the house, climb up on a horse that you've never ridden before, take off by yourself, pregnant, and in the goddamn dark!"

"Now wait just a minute!" She shook her head defensively, offended by his tone.

"Wait a minute for what? So you can tell me how good a rider you are? How you've been riding around since you were a baby? How you were practically born on the back of a horse? What about my baby? Does my baby get a choice? Hell no! He's just a passenger. Did you ever stop to think about the danger you might be putting him in? Of course you didn't. You took one look at that goddamn horse when we pulled up yesterday and you were gone. Forget me. Forget our son. Forget your own well-being."

"I don't have to stand here and listen to this." She pushed past him, heading around the edge of the pond toward the house.

"Jennifer!" He hollered, but she continued to walk.

Within moments, her fiery red hair disappeared in the fall foliage across the clearing. Jonathan picked up a rock, hurling it in anger across the pond.

 _I can't believe her! After all that talk at the ranch. After all the promises. 'I would never do anything to put myself or our baby in danger.' To hell with it! To hell with her promises!_

He sat down and reached for another rock, turning it over in his hands several times before tossing it out into the pond. It hit with a small splash, leaving a wake of ripples behind. The wind continued to blow. He knew that when the heat of his anger wore off, the thin jacket and lack of a shirt would send him back to the house. _You can run but you can't hide, Jennifer. You're going to hear me out on this. You were dead wrong on this one._

The sun continued to travel upward and he figured she'd had plenty of time to make it back to the house. The hostility he'd felt had subsided some, and now he felt tired. He continued to toss rocks into the pond. The look of fear in her eyes when he'd yelled replayed itself in the ripples before him. He'd never seen her look at him that way. She'd been genuinely afraid—and for that he felt no pride. The sound of a motor coming from behind him jarred him back to reality. He stood and turned around. A white truck was headed his way, pulling a black horse trailer. Jonathan dusted off his jeans and walked toward the approaching vehicle. _So she's decided to come back…_

"Hey Mr. Hart!" Russell called as he stepped out of the truck.

"Russell? I thought you were Jennifer."

"Jennifer? I thought she was here with you?" Russell glanced around, mentally taking inventory of the horses at the scene.

"She didn't send you down here to get the horses?" Jonathan asked, confused.

"No. I was just bringing up one of the colts from the back pasture. She forgot something in the truck when I brought her down here this morning." He reached down into his pockets, searching for something.

"You brought her down here?"

"Yes. She and I saddled Sugarfoot and Delilah early this morning. She wanted to get down here to surprise you. So we loaded Sugarfoot in the trailer and I dropped them off. But she left this in the truck and I think it's pretty integral to the surprise part."

He held something shiny his left hand and her offered it to Jonathan. Reaching out, he took a silver pocket knife from Russell's hand. On one side of the knife he read her initials—JCE. On the other side, the words _Swiss Army_.

Jonathan continued to look down at his feet, too ashamed to raise his head.

"Do you know what she was planning to do with this?" He mustered all his pride and raised his eyes to meet Russell's.

"Well, I hate to be the one to spoil a surprise, but I believe she wanted to carve your initials in her favorite tree. The one that Sugarfoot is tied to." Russell pointed to the tree.

"I was afraid you were going to say that." He turned his guilty blue eyes back toward the house.

XXXXXXXXXX

The wind continued to blow, sending crisp, colorful leaves swirling beneath his feet. He pulled his jacket tightly around him in an effort to retain some heat. From the viewpoint of the casual onlooker, Jonathan appeared to be lost. His normally confident carriage was slumped and withdrawn. His strong shoulders and convincing stride were anything but strong and convincing. With hands thrust deep in his pockets, he dragged his feet along the ground. Looking ahead he could see the stables in the distance and just beyond that, the house. The guilt he felt from the enlightening conversation he'd shared with Russell had now been compounded. He was somewhat winded from the walk back, and felt horrible that he'd watched his wife walk away—his pregnant wife—and had done nothing to stop her. The terrain of the estate was forgiving for the most part, but the sheer distance of the walk from her secret spot to the house was lengthy. He turned his eyes back down to his feet, watching the ground a few paces ahead of him. The unending stream of angry thoughts and words that had filled his head was now gone. He was left with nothing but cold emptiness and guilt. Dozens of hateful words had poured from his lips. He'd hurled them at her with the expert precision of a world class marksman. Would he be able to find even one meaningful word of true remorse to interest her? He'd already begun punishing himself—allowing Russell to load up the horses and forcing him to walk back to the main house just as she had. And with every step, the disappointment he felt in himself grew exponentially. He knew one thing with complete certainty: his case rested upon the two most overused and underappreciated phrases in any marriage...

I love you.

I'm sorry.

The white truck had returned, now parked beside the barn. He could make out Russell's frame in the distance. He doubted that Jennifer was with him, but couldn't rule it out for sure. He increased his pace, turning his head toward the stable. This game of adult hide-n-seek between them was not how he envisioned spending his Thanksgiving morning. In the back of his mind, he knew she was going to make him work for every ounce of forgiveness. And for that, he couldn't blame her. If he were to make a wager, he'd bet that Jennifer had stormed the house, leaving poor Stephen on the receiving end of a hostile diatribe. Stephen had shared many tales of heated arguments between himself and his daughter. The inevitable scene would go only one of two ways. Stephen would keep his British nose out of it at all cost, or he would bravely defend his baby girl. Either way, Jonathan knew he would stand on his own—alone.

Russell led Sugarfoot around the west side of the stable, pausing briefly to give Jonathan a wave. He responded with nothing more than a slight nod of acknowledgment before continuing inside the paddock. With a skillful jump, he was over the railing and heading toward the main entrance and Russell's office. The air was now still, with only the sound of an occasional hoof on the hey-strewn floor. A quick look around confirmed his hunch. No Jennifer. He turned halfheartedly, eyeing the main house before him. It sat atop a small ridge—its white columns and stately architecture casting a large shadow on the neatly manicured landscape. And inside, he felt certain that the temperature was much cooler than the autumn air surrounding him. Silently, he made his way up the steps and through the front door. The house was quiet, with no sign of Stephen or Jennifer. He slipped his boots off before continuing on his search. He checked every room on the first floor, seeing no one other than Walter working diligently in the kitchen. The patio was empty. The study was quiet. She must be upstairs. Images of her lying on the bed, her eyes red and wet with tears filled his mind. What have I done? I've ruined our holiday. Our first holiday together and I've ruined it. Reluctantly, he climbed the stairs, still uncertain of the first words he'd say when he saw her. In his heart, he knew he didn't even want to speak. He just wanted to hold her. Hold her and feel her body against his own.

The door to their bedroom was closed. He stood in the hall just outside it for a minute, trying to collect his thoughts and his pride—two things in short supply. After a deep breath, he knocked softly and waited for her reply. Nothing.

"Jennifer?" He whispered and knocked again. Still no reply. "Jennifer, may I come in?" He put his ear to the door and listened. No sound. He turned the knob and peeked inside. The room was empty. Jennifer's boots and jacket lay in a rumpled mass on the floor. A heavy sigh escaped from his chest, and he turned and walked back downstairs. With each step, he went through a mental checklist of hiding places. _Maybe she's gone down to the dock? Or she's holed up in the guest cottage?_ He paused a moment at the French doors leading outside, uncertain where to go first. A heavy hand on his shoulder startled him, and he turned around sharply.

"I'm afraid she's not here." Stephen spoke calmly.

"Do you know where she is?" Jonathan asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Gone."

"Where?"

"She wouldn't tell me. She came in, stomped straight upstairs, changed clothes, grabbed the car keys and left."

"Well, I've got to find her." Jonathan started to walk past his father-in-law, but Stephen grabbed his arm.

"You won't find her. She doesn't make it that easy. You're better off just waiting here. She'll be back."

"With all due respect sir, I just can't sit here waiting."

"And just where exactly do you intend to go?" Stephen gave him a hard look.

Jonathan paused, knowing he didn't have an answer. "Do you think she'll call?"

"No, she won't call. That's not her M.O. And don't bother calling her, because she won't answer." He motioned for Jonathan to follow him. The two men walked silently to the study, where Stephen ushered his daughter's husband inside before closing the door. The fireplace was alive with a warm glow, and Jonathan realized for the first time how just how cold he was.

"Jonathan, you know I'm not the type of man to meddle in the marital affairs of anyone."

"Yes sir."

"And my daughter is no exception."

"Yes sir." Jonathan nodded.

Stephen sighed before giving him an encouraging nod. "She's traded her horse for wheels. She's driving around, letting off steam, and cursing your name to the Heavens as we speak. But she will return. She always has and she always will. But that's not to say that there won't be a substantial cold front that hits when she breezes through the door."

"I'm really sorry that I've ruined your holiday, Stephen."

"You haven't ruined my holiday."

"I'm afraid I have, sir."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Did you happen to bring any work along with you? Anything from the office?"

"No."

"No memos or faxes?"

"Nothing. I never take work along on a holiday."

"Well then how about some personal correspondence? Surely you have some letter writing to catch up on?"

"No." Jonathan shook his head, unsure of this unusual line of questioning.

"A good book, perhaps?"

"I left it on the plane." Jonathan gave him a confused look. "Why?"

"It's going to be a long afternoon, I'm afraid. Jennifer might not return for hours. I was hoping you might have something to keep you busy."

"I'd really like to take a little drive around, if you don't mind."

"Suit yourself."

"If you could just point me in the general direction."

Stephen looked at Jonathan with a mix of empathy and sympathy. He didn't have to ask who held the blame card. He'd seen himself in the very same spot more times than he cared to recall. Not just with Jennifer, but with Suzanne as well.

"I wish I could. Fate will have to be your compass, I'm afraid." Again he patted Jonathan's shoulder with fatherly reassurance.

XXXXXXXXXX

She carefully climbed the metal bleachers at the stadium. The "Home of the Spartans" had been a safe retreat in her teens, and without thinking, the bright red Mustang had driven her there once again. Jennifer had spent only one year of her high school career at the local public school. A small battle with her father turned into a war, and Stephen had forced her to return home from boarding school during her sophomore year. But whenever she needed some time away to think, she always found herself sitting alone in the eleventh row, seat six, on the forty yard line. There was something about the immaculately maintained field and the expertly drawn white lines on green grass. It was orderly, and something to focus on when her thoughts weren't. She never attended even one game, but had logged many hours just sitting and thinking. It was the one secret spot that even Stephen didn't know about. Right under his nose. She bit her lip and smiled for the first time since seeing her husband's face in the early morning light.

It had been years since she'd come to the field in search of clarity. This place used to seem so big, she thought to herself. Looking around it occurred to her how her perspective had shifted so radically. There was a time when she dissected her childish dilemmas in what seemed like a vast space. Now, her issues had grown substantially while the space around her had diminished. The juxtaposition of viewing the world through two sets of eyes: those of a young girl, and those of a woman.

She slipped her hands inside the silk-lined pockets of her coat, cradling her pregnant belly within. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine his face. She wanted desperately to see his mischievous grin. His bright blue eyes. But those images had been replaced with a face full of rage. A severe stare. Words filled with a hateful tone. It wasn't Jonathan. It was someone else. Not the man in the elevator. Not the man lying beside her in a hospital bed.

 _You took one look at that goddamn horse when we pulled up yesterday and you were gone. Forget me. Forget our son. Forget your own well-being._

His words were like arrows, leaving her heart full of holes. _Does he really think that little of me? Does he really think I'd hurt our baby?_

 _"When in doubt, I play the trust card."_ His words from the cabin echoed loudly.

"Of course you do." She spoke with definitive sarcasm.

XXXXXXXXXX

The road into town was virtually deserted with the bulk of holiday travelers surely settled in at their destinations. He knew he was at a disadvantage in his pursuit. This was Jennifer's old stomping ground and Fate was doing little to help him locate his wife. He'd driven through the town twice but the little convertible was no where to be found. Stephen promised to call if she returned home. Jonathan checked his cell phone again. No calls. No messages.

He dropped his phone down on the passenger seat of the rented Mercedes before reaching for the radio. _Where the hell is she? Surely she didn't drive all the way into DC. Or did she?_ If finding Jennifer in the quiet suburb was likened to the proverbial needle in the haystack, then driving into DC was completely out of the question. He turned down a side street, still fingering the buttons on the radio in search of something appealing to listen to other than his guilt, banging like a bass drum in his head. He was met with a rash of sad breakup songs. The men of Player, begging Baby to come back, followed by Peter Cetera's desperate plea—convinced that if she left him, she'd take away the biggest part. _Alright, alright…I get it._ A faint hint of a smile crossed his lips. The relationship he'd shared with the radio over the years had become almost clinical. Time and again, it provided the lyrical medicine he needed to get his mind clear and his thoughts on track. And strangely enough, always seemed to broadcast the exact emotions he was feeling. Jonathan softly hummed along, nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music as he glanced up and down alleyways and in and out of parking lots.

 _Please, Jennifer…please come home. I'll do anything._

XXXXXXXXXX

 _LP,_

 _Happy Thanksgiving. I have to say I've had happier. Daddy and I are here in Maryland with your grandfather for the holiday. Uncle Max took Freeway to Seattle to spend time with Sarah and Michael. This is the first official holiday that your father and I have spent together as husband and wife._

Jennifer stopped writing and stared at her last sentence. _Our first holiday. We'll forever remember this day of thanks for hurtful words and hurt feelings_. With a sigh, she continued...

 _For whatever reason, it hasn't quite turned out the way I envisioned. I planned a surprise for your father, but it backfired. And now I find myself sitting in the parking lot of my old high school, listening to the radio and writing these thoughts to you. But you were there so I'm not telling you anything you don't already know. I'm sure you could hear Daddy shouting. It doesn't matter now. I sat in the stands, staring at the football field for a while, and felt nothing - except a numbness inside. Who was that man? Did you recognize him? I surely didn't. And by the look in his eye, he certainly has no idea who I am. I never thought I'd confront these words, but I'm writing them now and I wish they weren't true. You father doesn't trust me. All the talk of love and trust is nothing more than talk. He doesn't know me and I guess I don't really know him. How can we be this happily-ever-after if he thinks I would put you in danger? Doesn't he know that this family we've created is the most important thing in my life? The shouting I can live with. The harsh words and tone? I'm a big girl. But the lack of trust. Bottom line: No trust? No hope. And I'm back to Square One, sitting alone in a London flat and waiting on Trust. Different man, same story._

She paused again, rereading the lines before her. No trust? No hope? Chewing on the end of her pen she mulled over the final thoughts on the page. Strong words. Unforgiving. And she knew in her heart of hearts, untrue. Replacing the cap on her pen, she dropped it in her purse. The page of her journal was ripped clean from the binding, wadded up in a tight ball, and stuffed inside the glove compartment. She checked the rear view mirror before putting the car in reverse. Her eyes showed the signs. Hurt. Disappointment. Maybe it was time her rebellious spirit did some much needed growing up. Turning her marriage into a battleground held no appeal. She closed her eyes, allowing her head to fall back against the headrest. Hall and Oates sang softly on the radio and suddenly Jennifer felt warm. Too warm. Quickly she unbuttoned her coat and cracked the window, bringing the cool autumn breeze inside. She checked her watch. Still a few hours until Walter's turkey would find its way to the large table in the formal dining room. As much as she wanted to make Jonathan wait it out, she didn't want to leave her father in the middle—a holiday casualty. She placed her hand on the gear shift and eyed the mirror once more. Just as she was beginning to back up, she felt it. As if a butterfly whispered inside her...

The gear shift returned to park and Jennifer placed her hands on her belly. She sat completely still for a moment, focusing with breathless concentration. Seconds passed then she felt it again. Oh my God! She was overcome with opposing emotions of joy and sorrow. The tears she'd bravely held in all morning poured from her eyes as she felt the first moments of the baby inside her...and the pain in knowing that the man she loved above all else wasn't there to share the milestone.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Hey Champ,_

 _Dad's Advice: Crawling is a skill you'll need long after babyhood._

 _Well, it looks like I have screwed up what might have been a beautiful Thanksgiving holiday. Your mom and I flew in yesterday to spend a couple of days with your grandfather. This is the first time Mommy and I have spent a real holiday together since our wedding. And I've ruined it. I viciously attacked your mom with an onslaught of lethal verbiage that, at the moment, I can't even recall the majority of. I was an absolute ass. Your mom took off and frankly, who can blame her? I drove all over looking for her, but never found her. Your grandfather tried to tell me that would happen but for whatever reason, I can't seem to listen. So now I'm sitting in Grandpa's study in front of a nice fire and trying desperately to get my head right._

 _What the hell was I thinking? I have never been so out of line in my life. And your beautiful mother has paid the price. I didn't even give her a chance to explain. I just ran over her. I've never done that before. With the exception of some minor disagreements, we've never had a fight. I guess technically I can't even call it a fight. It can only be deemed as such if both parties contribute equally. I certainly didn't give her an opportunity to do that._

 _What am I going to say to her? How can I make her understand how truly sorry I am and how horrible I feel? I was operating purely out of love for her and for you and I came across as anything but loving. I bet I know exactly what's going through her mind right now. The trust card. I've just made a liar of myself and I'm praying that I'll be able to find the words to show her that trust wasn't really the issue. I'm afraid. I am afraid of losing your mom. It's a battle I've fought from the moment I fell in love with her. There's a part of me that lives in fear of losing the best thing that's ever happened to me. We even talked about it up at the cabin last weekend. I hated lying to her, but sometimes a lie is necessary if it protects someone you love. Do I suffer from irrational fear? I guess I do. I didn't want to tell your mom that because she worries about you. And worrying about me is the last thing she needs right now. So I held my tongue, reassuring her that I'm not waiting on that good old shoe to fall. Loving your mom should be the most freeing feeling in the world. And it is—to a point._

 _God, if anything happens to her while she's out there somewhere, I don't know what I'll do._

He stopped writing, allowing his eyes to pass over the paper before him. Every sentence spoke the truth and made him wonder. Is it possible to love too much? Too deeply? Love isn't love when it becomes debilitating, is it?

He tore the page from the legal sized notepad and walked to the fireplace. Staring into the flames, he ripped the letter into small pieces and tossed it inside. Within seconds the tiny yellow scraps of paper were consumed, drifting weightlessly up inside the flue like feathers in the wind. Hearing a noise behind him, he turned to see Stephen. He stood just inside the doorway, holding Jonathan's jacket out in front of him.

"Are we going somewhere?" Jonathan asked.

"No, but I thought you might need this." He handed the jacket to his son-in-law.

"Why?"

"The cold front just blew in."

"She's back?" Jonathan's voice was filled with relief.

"She just pulled up."

"Thanks for letting me know."

"Don't start thanking me just yet."

He stood just outside the French doors, in plain view on the patio. This was his litmus test. The patio was visible from almost every room in the house, and there was no way Jennifer could make it upstairs without seeing him. From the corner of his eye, he caught Stephen's silhouette inside the study. He watched as his father-in-law drew the drapes, giving him a thumbs up just before disappearing behind the heavy fabric. _Either she'll come out here, ready to talk or I'm in for the quietest Thanksgiving holiday of my life._

Just a couple of months before, Jonathan had stood on the very same patio, holding Jennifer in his arms the night before their wedding. He'd hidden in the shadows, watching as she and her father shared a quiet moment together. Rubbing his hands together in an effort to calm the chill, he could still feel her beaded silk gown on his fingertips. He could see her silky ginger curls across the pillow. And now he longed to touch the silky softness of her skin. Every silky, freckled inch.

"I'm back." Jennifer rapped lightly on the door to her father's study.

"Are you okay?" He glanced over the top of his book.

"I don't know." She looked past him and into the fireplace.

"Well, I think someone is waiting for you outside on the patio."

"I know. I saw him. But I really don't want to get into this right now. I'm tired and I want to go lie down for a while."

"Of course, my dear. Can I get you anything?"

"No." She whispered.

"I'll call you when the turkey's on the table then. How does that sound?"

"That'll be fine." She offered a weak smile.

"Alright, Darling. Off you go, then." He blew her a kiss.

Jennifer started to shut the door, but stuck her head back inside the study one last time.

"Hey Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for understanding."

"I understand all too well. I've been right there too." He gave her a warm smile.

"I'll see you in a bit." She blew a kiss back to him.

"Wait. Before you go, I just have to ask. How did it look? Still pristine as ever?"

"How did what look?" Jennifer asked.

"The old Spartan football field."

She dropped her head, shaking it back and forth as she looked down at her feet. When she caught his eye again, she couldn't help but smile.

"You're something, you know that?"

"So I've been told." He smiled back.

XXXXXXXXXX

The heat and steam of the shower felt good against her tired and drained body. With eyes closed, she stood directly under the over-sized shower head, allowing the water to wash over her. She'd taken her time getting upstairs and undressed, certain that Jonathan would be in quick pursuit. She'd noted his performance on the patio as she stood silently at her bedroom window looking down at him. The sorrowful way in which he stood waiting with his hands tucked in his pockets told her that he'd realized his mistake and was ready to ask for forgiveness. Standing in the shower she felt sure that at any moment he'd try to slip in and join her, making it hard to stay mad at him. Running her fingers through the soapy lather, she could almost feel his hands and the gentle way he washed her hair. Every touch from him was filled with loving tenderness. And every minute that ticked by caused her heart to break a little more. She remembered the shower they took together at the cabin, and the playful look in his eyes. He could melt her with just one look. But the playful expression in his eyes had turned to the coldest of blue steel in the predawn hours...and it was an image she couldn't shake.

Jennifer stepped from the shower, dripping water across the floor, as she located a fresh towel. Wrapping it snugly around her, she tiptoed to the door and listened. _Jonathan is sitting on the bed waiting for me, I just know it,_ she thought, resting a trembling hand on the doorknob. _Please God, no more shouting. I cannot do the shouting. I know I said I'm a big girl but not today._

She took a deep breath and opened the door. The bedroom was empty, exactly as she'd left it. Except for one thing. A small white envelope rested against her pillow. Her bare feet padded softly across the wood floor and she dried her hand once more before reaching for the envelope. She slipped back over to the window, pulling the sheers back before peeking down on the patio. No Jonathan. Returning to the bed, she dropped the towel to the floor and pulled the sheets back. The cold bedding against her slightly damp body chilled her. With a shaky hand, she pulled a note from inside.

 _Jennifer,_

 _Your father told me you'd returned and I waited for you on the patio. I thought that maybe you'd be ready to talk about what happened this morning. I know you're probably exhausted and you should definitely rest. I'm so thankful that you are home and safe. I promise not to bother you. But I hope that at some point today, you'll allow me to explain myself._

 _J._

Trying to gauge his exact tone, she read the note a second time. She focused on the single initial. It just sat there all alone on the page. No love or I love you in front of it. Everything was summed up right there—in his closing.

XXXXXXXXXX

She secured her watch on her wrist as she made her way down the stairs. All of Walter's culinary diligence had kept her from falling into a deep sleep, as the tempting scents of Thanksgiving dinner found her nose. It was five 'til two, and her father would be happy that she was on time. He abhorred tardiness in anyone. Her heart beat rapidly inside her chest, anticipating the moment she would see her husband. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself for the performance of her life. She had absolutely no intention of ruining her father's holiday meal. Stopping at the large gilded mirror in the hall, she practiced a smile. Not very convincing but it'll have to do.

She continued on to the dining room, still practicing her smile. The first to arrive, she inspected the elegantly set table. Her mother's favorite china looked as beautiful as ever. Every piece of crystal sparkled. The silver was polished to a high luster. Two large bouquets of fresh flowers, in a colorful array of autumnal hues, graced the center of the table. A dozen antique candlesticks held slender, flickering tapers and cast a warm glow around the room.

"Didn't Walter do a fabulous job on the table, Darling?" Stephen entered the dining room, swinging his dinner jacket around his shoulders.

"Yes he did. It looks beautiful."

"How about a glass of wine to start? One very tiny glass couldn't hurt."

"Why isn't Walter joining us?" She looked from the table to her father.

"He is. He's putting the bird on the platter as we speak." He crossed the room to the large buffet and selected a bottle of wine.

"Then where is Jonathan going to sit? There's only three place settings."

"Well, I'm afraid it will just be the three of us, my dear."

"Jonathan's not coming?"

"No, I don't believe so."

"He's not eating dinner with us?"

"No, Darling. It's just you, me and Walter. Just like old times."

"What's going on?"

Stephen sighed heavily. "Jonathan asked to be excuse from dinner. What was I going to say? No? He's a grown man, for heaven sake."

"Where is he?"

"He left."

"And you just let him leave?" Her tone hinted at annoyance.

"Yes Jennifer, I let him leave. Just like a let _you_ leave." He gave her a sharp look.

She looked down at the floor, unsure what to say.

"I'm sorry." Raising her head, she looked with glassy eyes at her father. "I know this was not how you envisioned spending your holiday."

"No, I have to admit it wasn't. But everything's going to be alright. You'll see. Let's just try and enjoy the wonderful meal that Walter has prepared."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer stared out the window as she pulled a crisp white apron over her head. Walter's dinner was just as she predicted: perfectly delicious. Looking around the kitchen, in classic Walter fashion, he'd left very little to clean up. Carefully, she rinsed each plate before storing it inside the dishwasher, keeping her eyes focused on the back of the estate. _Maybe he's gone for a walk?_ She glanced at her watch. A _very long walk. It'll be getting dark soon._ She continued the task at hand, cautious with each piece of crystal she cleaned.

The dinner conversation had been pleasant. Stephen and Walter traded tales of past holidays and dining fiasco that had occurred over the course of Jennifer's childhood. She kept her smile in tact, but didn't contribute much more than an occasional nod. Stephen held out his hand to her, offering fatherly comfort. But he quickly pulled it away when he saw that his loving gestures were doing more harm than good, seeing traces of tears in his daughter's eyes. She'd pushed Walter's world famous oyster dressing around on her plate, lost in thought. _Thanksgiving is about family. One hundred percent. How can you celebrate when half of your family—your most important half—is missing? My first thanksgiving as a married woman, expecting my first child, and I'm flying solo. What is wrong with this picture?_

Standing at the sink, her mind crept into a dark place, as she remember another time she'd spent a traditional holiday alone…

 _"Do we have to go?"_

 _"Why must you continue to ask questions to which you already know the answer? Is it just because you enjoy the sound of your own voice so much?" He stood at the mirror, adjusting his bright red silk tie._

 _"I just thought we could spend a quiet New Year's Eve here at home."_

 _"And miss out on the hottest party of the year? You must be joking."_

 _"Look, we've seen all these people at least half a dozen times over the past three weeks at all the holiday parties you insisted on dragging me to."_

 _"And we'll see them again tonight. Now hurry up and get dressed. I have your dress hanging on the back of the closet door."_

 _"Dress? What dress?"_

 _"The red one I bought you for Christmas."_

 _"You mean the one you brought home after your date with a hooker? Sorry, but I'm not wearing it."_

 _"Get dressed. Just think how cute we'll look. Your dress will match my tie."_

 _"I'm not going."_

 _"Jennifer, damn it! I don't have time to play games. Now get dressed."_

 _"I'm not playing games."_

 _"We're going. Either you can get dressed like a good little girl, or I can carry you into the party in your robe. Your choice."_

 _"What if I slip out of my robe, and into our bed? Would that convince you to stay?"_

 _"I'll be downstairs. Ten minutes." He turned and walked out of their bedroom._

 _Jennifer reluctantly walked to the bathroom, eyeing the tacky red dress hanging on the door. No way in hell, she thought. Standing inside her closet, she inspected a multitude of options. What dress does Elliot absolutely despise? She selected a jade green silk dress, modest and boring. If he insists I be on his arm, then he'll have to take me as is._

 _The doorman tipped his hat and smiled as he opened the door of their building for her. Elliot sat waiting; an impatient expression on his dark face. Jennifer walked to the cab and reached for the handle. Elliot rolled the window down, looking furious._

 _"What happened to the red dress?"_

 _"I told you I'm not wearing it."_

 _"Well, then I guess a hooker will be my first order of business tonight. You know how I hate to ring in the New Year without a fine piece of ass by my side. Let's go, Driver." He rolled the window up and turned his eyes to the front of the cab, leaving Jennifer alone on the sidewalk._

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'm really starting to get worried." She checked the mantle clock in the living room for the millionth time.

"He'll be back."

"Why is he punishing me again? Didn't he get enough of that this morning?"

"He's not punishing you. He's punishing himself."

She looked at her father with confusion. "And just how do you figure that?"

"Darling, if Jonathan could be anywhere in the world right now, where do you think he'd be?"

"With me?" She asked.

"Precisely. By staying away from the person he longs to be with most, he punishes himself. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. It's the exact opposite reason that you left today."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You didn't leave to punish yourself. No woman does. You leave to punish us. If you wanted to punish yourself, you'd stay right here in the thick of it."

Jennifer smiled again, thankful for her father and all his wisdom.

"You know, it makes me look bad when I have to admit you know what you're talking about."

"I won't tell if you won't." He raised his martini glass to her.

"But it's almost seven. It's dark, and he doesn't have a flashlight or anything."

"Jennifer, he's fine. He'll come home when he's good and ready. You did, didn't you?"

"Yes…" She sighed heavily.

"Now," He clapped his hands together. "According to the clock there, I believe it's time we set up for our yearly Scrabble face off. That is, if you still feel like playing?"

 _Of course I don't feel like playing. I just want to go upstairs, pull the covers over my head, and forget this day ever happened._

"Sure." She nodded with slight reluctance.

"That's my girl. I think Walter stored the game inside the credenza in the study. I'll be right back, my dear." He touched her cheek lightly before exiting the living room.

Kneeling down beside the coffee table, she cleared away a stack of magazines and literature, leaving a space for the Scrabble board. From the time she was just a small girl, she and her father enjoyed their favorite board games each Thanksgiving. With his help, she'd become a whiz at Scrabble, and could beat just about anyone—and in half a dozen languages no less.

Stephen returned with the game in one hand and a fresh martini in the other.

"My dear, did you want anything before we start? Some water or fruit juice perhaps?"

"No, I'm fine. I'll get something in a little bit." She reached for the box, and began setting up the game board. Stephen settled in on the sofa, placing his martini glass on the end table before pulling his glasses from his pocket.

"Darling, would you slide my tiles this way?"

"Here you go…" She pushed seven wooded squares across the table to her father.

"Now, I've forgotten since last year. Who's up?" He flipped his tile rack over, inspecting the bottom.

"I think I won last year. So that puts me ahead by four, I think. And since I won, that means you keep score." Jennifer checked the bottom of her wooden tile rack, noting the number of tally marks carved in the bottom.

"Well, it doesn't matter because I'll be carving my win in the bottom of my rack this year." He began placing the small tiles on his rack with a competitive grin.

She paused suddenly. _Carving? The knife! My knife. I must have dropped it somewhere on my way back._

"Oh Daddy, I think I may have lost my knife."

"What knife?"

"My knife. The Swiss Army knife you gave me."

"What on earth were you doing with it?"

"I was going to carve our initials on my tree this morning."

"Are you sure you took it with you? Maybe you left it here."

"No, I had it with me this morning. But I don't remember seeing it after I left the paddock."

"It's right here…"

Jennifer turned her head sharply at the sound of his voice. He stood in the doorway. His cheeks were bright red and wind burned. His hair fell down on his forehead. By the expression on his face, she knew her father had never been more right. The signs of punishment were plain. He fished inside one pocket of his jeans for a moment then pulled the bright silver knife out into view. Jennifer was caught—trapped in his stare. His once playful blue eyes now conveyed only sorrow and regret. Everything around them seemed to stop as she looked up at him in silence from the living room floor. She knew he was waiting on her response. She looked away, feeling her heart pulled in opposing directions. The broom of forgiveness that she'd once carried had long been stored away. It remained tucked up on a dusty shelf along with the old Jennifer. There was a time when I would have started sweeping with just one word, she considered.

"Mystery solved." Stephen commented, taking his martini and quietly slipping out of the room.

Jennifer watched her father exit then pushed herself up with the aid of the coffee table, eager to follow suit.

"Jennifer, wait—" He reached out for her hand.

"Wait? Wait for what? So you can tell me how sorry you are? How wrong you were? How you can't believe what you did and that you swear it'll never happen again?"

"Could we please take this conversation somewhere else? Please?" He asked, trying his best to stay collected.

"Oh, so now suddenly you've found some manners, is that it? Asking please and playing nice, is that it? Wrong. Try again."

Jonathan remained silent. While her words were filled with sarcasm and ridicule, her eyes only conveyed one word—hurt. _Did I really say all that? Damn! She didn't miss a word of it, did she?_

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Her voice cracked as she folded her arms across her chest.

He sighed heavily and dropped his eyes to the floor. A full minute passed before he could respond. Looking down, he quietly studied the intricate designs on the imported silk rug beneath his feet. Tiny circles looped and swirled, connecting with one another in a sea of pastels. _God, she's not holding back...and I deserve every bit of it._

"It certainly does." He finally spoke, raising his head. His voice was barely a whisper. They stood staring at one another, waiting. Jennifer's heart continued beating rapidly, and she fought to hold back the tears. Jonathan took a step toward her, lightly touching her shoulder.

"I want to make this right. No matter how long it takes. And I want to do it on your terms." He looked into her autumn eyes without blinking.

Looking up at him and the truth in his expression, she felt the knot in her throat expand. His eyes didn't lie. She sighed and nodded, turning and walked silently toward the French doors in the main hall. Jonathan followed; his hands safely back inside his pockets. For a brief moment, she caught her reflection in the large, gilded mirror for the second time that day. Unlike Jonathan's, her eyes told another story.

Placing a shaky hand on the door knob, she closed her eyes for a brief moment before stepping outside. A bitter wind met her face, and she could see her breath in the chilly November air. It only took a few steps onto the patio for her to realize that the lightweight sweater she wore would not be enough. She was just about to retreat when she felt his hands and the warmth of his jacket against her. He rested his hands on her shoulders for several moments, giving her a loving squeeze. She turned to face him, noting that same honest look in the pale light that fell on the patio from inside the house.

"Jonathan, let me go back inside and get my coat." She started to pull his jacket off.

"I'll be okay." His hands once again hid inside his pockets.

"It's forty degrees."

"I'm fine."

"Well, you can't stand out here like that. You'll freeze." She turned and eyed the guest house that sat quietly between the main house and the paddock. Without a word, she silently led the way to the darkened quarters. The wind encircled them, blowing Jennifer's hair into her eyes and mouth. She had no idea just what he planned on saying, but she would make sure that her broom stayed comfortably out of sight until she said everything she needed to say.

She climbed the stairs of the guest house, tucking unruly strands of hair behind her ears. Carefully bending down, she searched blindly behind the large black urn that stood like a soldier on the left side of the door, as her fingers tried to find the key. Reaching over her, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.

"After you…" He reached out for her hand again to help her stand.

"How did you do that?" She looked up, puzzled.

"You don't think I've been out walking since two o'clock, do you?"

He pulled the brass key from his front pocket and placed it into her hand. Her heart missed another beat when she felt the brush of his fingers. She watched as he stepped inside the guest house and flipped on the exterior lights. Turning back to her, he waited just inside the doorway. His face held equal parts anticipation and anxiety. She stepped inside on heavy legs and closed the door behind her as Jonathan turned on a reading lamp. The dim light scattered among the shadows in the room. The guest house was just as she remembered... elegantly designed, yet unpretentious and comfortable. Exquisite wood, Audubon prints, and overstuffed furnishings, tastefully clothed in a mix of masculine plaids and feminine chintz. For the first time, in the light of the lone lamp, she realized how much it reminder her of his apartment in the city. It was refined and relaxed, just like Jonathan. Her eyes traveled around the room, and she noticed nothing out of place. Except one item. A small tray sat atop the antique coffee table, with all the remains of a Thanksgiving dinner for one. A tiny piece of her heart fell away like a brittle rose petal and she struggled to retain her composure. In her mind, she pictured him sitting here alone, eating his meal in silence, while his expectant bride did the same thing just a few yards away. Eating the very same meal. On the very same day. Off the very same china. In two very different rooms. Before she could speak, he broke their silence.

"How 'bout a fire?" He pointed, walking in the direction of the fireplace.

"That would be nice." She nodded, finding that her words were now barely more than a whisper. Quietly she moved over to the sofa and sat down, still taking inventory of the room. Several books lay stacked on the floor beside the chaise, and Jennifer guessed he'd spent a good portion of his holiday surveying many of the titles that lived on the large bookcase on the wall opposite the fireplace. A bottle of her father's favorite Beaujolais sat unopened on the counter in the small kitchen aside a single crystal wine goblet.

As Jonathan kneeled before the fireplace, he could feel his wife's eyes on his back. All day he'd sat in the guest house, trying to collect the perfect words needed for forgiveness. And all day, he found the English language failed to produce. The silence around them pounded in time with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Striking a match, he took a deep breath and lit the kindling wood beneath the large logs in the grate. He focused on the flames as the blue light melted into a golden heat. The warmth of the fire relaxed him, and he stood and turned to face the proverbial music.

"Can I get you anything? Something to drink?" He asked, resuming his stance with hands safely back in pockets.

"No, I'm fine."

"You know…" He glanced down at the floor. "I'm not quite sure what the protocol is for this." He shrugged.

"For what?"

"For this…" He pointed back and forth between the two of them. "This is a milestone in our marriage, you know. Our first real fight. I'm pretty sure I screwed up the fight part, so I want to make sure I get the apology right." He spoke slowly, and she detected no cynicism in his voice.

"Not exactly a milestone I care to remember."

"Jennifer, I…" He searched his heart and mind for just the right words, and his eyes once again found the floor.

"Come sit down…please." She motioned for him to join her on the sofa.

Taking a place on the sofa, he looked into the flames once more before bringing his blue eyes up to hers.

"I talked to Russell."

"I see."

"He told me everything."

"Did he?"

"Yes. He told me he drove you and the horse down to your secret spot. He found your knife in the truck and was bringing it back to you when he found me alone instead."

Jennifer paused, unsure what to say.

"I sat here all day trying to find the right words. Sorry just won't cover it." He shook his head and looked down at his hands.

"Jonathan…" She reached for his hand.

"No, don't say anything. Not yet." He sighed heavily as he collected his thoughts. His eyes focused on her beautiful hand, and the shining band on her slender finger. He carefully traced the edge of her wedding ring with his index finger. His eyes locked with hers once more and he spoke with quiet deliberation.

"Do you remember the conversation we had at the ranch? The conversation about living a charmed life?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"You ask me if I ever worry that my life is too good, remember?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember what I said?"

"You said you felt blessed and that you didn't want to live your life waiting on the other shoe to fall."

He looked into the fireplace once more. "Well I lied. Not about being blessed, because I am blessed more than a man has a right to be. But about that other shoe. I lied about the shoe."

"I don't understand." She shook her head; confused.

"There's a card that trumps the Trust Card every time. It's the Fear Card. And today, I played it. I not only played it, I let it play me. When I read your note this morning and saw the map, all reasonable thought left my mind. I was so afraid of something happening to you that I couldn't think straight. I had these pictures in my mind—awful pictures of finding you out there…" His voice trailed off as his eyes connected with hers. "I've never needed anything or anyone the way I need you. And as beautiful as that is, it has also created one of the greatest obstacles in my life." He studied her eyes, continuing to hold her hand in his own.

"I don't understand what you mean." She searched his face for the true meaning behind his words.

"I don't know how to let you run, giving you the freedoms you need and deserve, when all I want to do is pull back on the reins."

Jennifer watched as his finger continued to draw tiny circles on her hand. She took a much needed breath, realizing that she'd barely breathed as he spoke.

"There's a thin line between the blissful dream and the terrible nightmare where Fate takes you away from me." He looked up at her with a burning intensity. "I want you to understand something. I mean really understand and hear what I'm saying." He reached and took both of her hands in his. "I trust you. I know without a doubt that you love me and would never do anything to hurt me. Or our baby. The trust issue is not about you, Jennifer. It's about me. I have to learn to trust myself. To not give over to a very real fear I have. Losing you scares me more than anything in this world. Without you, there'd be no me."

His words were soft and quiet; full of velvet emotion that wrapped warmly around her. The tears she'd held in found their way down her cheeks in silent streaks. Reaching up, he brushed them away with his thumb. She'd never seen him look more vulnerable. With a nod of her head she acknowledged his statement. She had spent the most intimate and private times of her life with him. He was the only person who held the key to her innermost room. Yet, this was the first time that Jonathan had ever sat before her and expressed fear. Jonathan—a man who seemed to fear nothing—was afraid. It wasn't an excuse or an easy out. Slipping her hand inside one pocket of his jacket, she found the handle of the old yet familiar broom. And for the first time in her life, instead of despair, the broom filled her with comfort. Maybe forgiveness is no longer a chore when you really love someone, she pondered.

"I don't know what to say," He spoke with a solemn tone. "Other than I have never been more ashamed of myself. I am truly, truly sorry. I ruined everything. Not just our first holiday but your father's too. And after he and Walter worked so hard to make this day special for all of us. I was completely out of line this morning. The things I said to you…well, I can't even begin to imagine how that must have made you feel. If it hurts this much to be the one to say those things, then I can't even fathom how you felt being on the receiving end."

Jennifer paused a moment as her eyes fixed on the glowing flames.

"Oh I think you can, because you've been there yourself." She gave his hand a squeeze. "The speech. The Four Seasons. Remember? "

"It's not the same thing." He shook his head in protest.

"Did it change the way you felt about me?"

"No."

"Did you question forgiveness?"

"Of course not."

"Neither do I."

She gazed at him with a serious expression and a minute of silence passed between them. She held his hand in hers, now tracing the lines of his golden wedding band.

"I had just as much to do with this as you did. I ran away. I don't know why I do it, but it's what I do. It's what I've always done." She sighed heavily, but kept his hand firmly in her grip. "You waited for me on the patio and my stubborn pride was more concerned with hurting you than making this right. You waited and I just left you there. I was wrong. That's not the way I want our marriage to be." She paused, taking another deep breath as she allowed herself to go into that dark place. "I don't want it to be that way with us. I don't ever want it to be like that again." Another tear slipped silently down her cheek, falling lightly onto his hand.

"You ran because I left you no other choice. It's not like I was prepared to listen to reason. I tried to force your hand, and you folded. You have no blame in this. No blame whatsoever."

"No, that's not right. There are two people in this union. Two people."

"You mean three." He placed his hand on her belly again with a sweet smile.

She placed her hand on top of his as her mind traveled back to the Spartan parking lot. "I felt it. Him. I felt him. For the first time."

"You did?" His eyes were filled with loving concern. "Aw, Darling that's fantastic."

"I wanted you to be with me when it happened. If I hadn't left…"

"Jennifer, now there's no guarantee that we would have been together when it happened. You have to know that." He gave her a look.

"I know, but I just hoped." She paused.

"Well, what did it feel like? Tell me everything."

"It was exactly like I thought it would be, and at the same time, completely different."

"In what way?"

"Well, I did feel this fluttering, just like we've read about in our books. But the way it made me feel…well, that just can't be put into a book." She looked down at her pregnant form. "There was this moment when I realized how real this all is. There is a real, human life growing inside me. A little person that we made. I know I've seen the pictures, and heard his heartbeat, but today I felt him. He's in there."

"I promise I will make this day up to you."

"I know." She nodded. "I made a list." She mustered a smile.

"A short list or a long one?" He flashed a grin.

"Short. Just one item. But it could take you all night."

"You can't be letting me off this easy."

"Yes I can." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "And I think you've punished yourself enough. How can I possibly be mad at you for loving me? I know that you were upset because you were afraid. And I understand that. So it didn't come out exactly as 'loving concern." I have said some pretty nasty things to you and always come back with an olive branch in one hand and your heart in the other. Love means never having to say you're sorry, remember?"

"Not this time."

"And it means not having to jump through hoops for forgiveness either." She slipped her arms around his neck. "We're not perfect. We are blessed to have something that is as close to perfect as two people can share. I wake up next to you day after day smiling—completely in awe of how perfectly happy I am. But we're gonna have those days when we don't like each other very much. And that's okay. As long as we're back to loving each other when our heads hit the pillow."

"I'm crazy about you, do you know that?" The husky sound of his voice brought her to that place of safest love.

"I've had my suspicions for a while now." She couldn't help but smile.

"I love you so very much." His fingers found their favorite hiding place in the silky layers of her hair.

"And I pray you always will."

Jonathan pulled her close and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. They held each other and neither wanted to let go. A quiet knock on the door forced them to break their hold, and they both glanced in the direction of the sound behind them.

"That's my father." She watched as Jonathan crossed the room. He opened the door, but found no one there.

"Santa's been here." He bent down, temporarily out of her site. When he stood and turned back toward her, she smiled. A large tray of goodies, along with a red gift bag, had been delivered. He returned to her, placing the tray on the coffee table alongside the one that Walter had brought him earlier.

"There's a note." Jonathan reached for it and handed it to his wife. She bit her lip as she took it from his grasp. Silently she read her father's words, then laughed to herself.

"What's it say?" He asked.

"You read it." She handed the note back to him. He cleared his throat in dramatic fashion before reading it aloud.

 _Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hart,_

 _It has been brought to my attention that perhaps you have finally come to your senses. It is my deepest desire to see the two of you together during this most special of holidays. Thanksgiving is about family. Family is about love. And love is just what Walter puts into his world famous turkey sandwiches. So enjoy this little snack as you get back to the business of being one of the happiest couples I've ever had the pleasure of knowing._

 _I love you both,_

 _S._

 _P.S. I apologize for leaving our Scrabble game in haste. If you find that you are still unable to resolve your differences, may I suggest another game? It has helped many couples find their way back into each other arms. (See red bag)_

"A game? For couples?" Jonathan asked, reaching out for the shiny gift bag.

"I have no idea." She watched him with a curious grin. He slipped his hand inside the gift bag and pulled out a square box.

"Twister!" Jennifer shook her head.

"I think Twister in the second trimester might be pushing it, don't you think?"

"Not unless it's Naked Twister." She gave him a wink.

He lifted the lid off the box and pulled out the spinner. "I wonder if your parents played the naked version."

"Jonathan, please! Of course they didn't."

"Well, he did say that he knew many couples who'd found their way into each other's arms playing it. Maybe they were one of those couples."

"I hardly think my father is the type of man to play Naked Twister."

"Jennifer, let me let you in on a little secret. If he's a man, then he's the type." He gave her a knowing nod.

"Can we change the subject? Please?"

"Oh Dahling, what's wrong?" He imitated Stephen's proper British accent. "Don't want to think about me shagging your dear, sweet Mum on the Twister mat?" He dropped the spinner back in the box.

"Enough!"

"Actually, they played Naked Scrabble—but only spelled out the really dirty words."

"Stop it!" She laughed.

Just the sound of her laughter was enough to get him drunk. Was it the sweetness of its melody, or the playful way her head fell back, causing her hair to fall softly over her shoulders? There, in the dimly lit guest house, alone in front of the fire, he said his most heartfelt prayer of thanks as his hands once again found the warm comfort of her hair.

"I know I need to come up with a new line, but you really are so lovely."

He leaned into her as he whispered, finding her lips. There was something about her kiss. It was full and delicious, like the sweetest grape on the vine. He found himself feeling more and more intoxicated as his hands became lost in her auburn curls.

"I think that line works just fine." She pulled back with a smile.

"Jennifer?" His eyes turned serious.

"Yes?"

"I'm so sorry." He rested his forehead against hers.

"Me too." She shared a string of tiny, loving kisses with him.

"So where'd you go anyway? I drove all over town."

"To the high school."

"The high school?"

"The football field actually. Another one of my secret spots. Or so I thought. Stephen Edwards has obviously known every move I've ever made."

"He knew where you were?" Jonathan asked.

"I don't know how, but he knew."

"I wonder why he didn't tell me."

"Maybe it didn't occur to him 'til later."

"Or maybe he wanted to see just how resourceful I can be."

They sat silently and he watched the light of the fire dance upon her cheeks. Her eyes were still red, but the hurtful look was finally gone. Plenty of women had cried in his presence for one reason or another. But it'd never affected him the way it did with Jennifer. He wasn't a cold-hearted man—quite the contrary. But tears just never produced much empathy where grown women were concerned. Until now.

"I want you to know something." That husky tone returned to his voice.

"What?"

"You can cry at the end of a movie, or over a sad love song, or at the thought of an old memory but I don't want you to ever, ever cry because of something I've said or done."

"Okay." She whispered, bringing her eyes back to meet his.

"I really do love you."

"I know." She nodded. "And I really love you."

The cashmere throw was soft, but nothing like the feel of Jennifer's skin against his. They lay together amid a sea of plaid pillows, wrapped in the warmth and light of the fire. Their lovemaking had been soft and silent. They'd said everything they needed to say and just allowed their bodies to exchange apologies. The guest house was quiet with only the sounds of the crackling fire and the occasional shifting of logs in the grate around them. Her head rested on him and as he lightly drew circles on her shoulder, he hummed softly.

They didn't have to say it, but they both knew it to be true. Holding each other in the quiet moments afterward—that's where their deepest connections were made. Without words. Their loved echoed in every look and caress, making the need to speak unnecessary. Her hand grew heavy on this chest and he knew she was drifting away. He held his hand on her shoulder, pulling her body closer as she pulled the sash on the window of her innermost room, hiding them away from the rest of the world.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Hey Champ,_

 _Dad's Advice: Face Your Fears._

 _There are going to be times in your life when you make mistakes. Some will be insignificant. Others will be monumental. Whether big or small, major or minor, if you are at fault, step up and take your licks. It's not enough to just say you're sorry. Over time, the word loses its meaning. And if you have to use it on a continual basis, then perhaps you need to step back and take a good, long look at yourself and your life. Anyone can apologize. But it takes a man to admit the nature of his wrongdoings—to look inside and find the motivation behind the error. Were you guided by greed, lust, envy, pride, or any of the other deadly sins? From my experience, I've found that all of the deadly sins can be traced back to one thing: fear. Think about it. Greed is the fear of never having enough. Lust is the fear of going without. Envy is the fear of others having more. Pride is the fear of admitting your shortcomings. Gluttony is the fear of hunger. Wrath is the fear of not being in total control. Sloth is the fear of hard work. Fear can eat you up and consume your soul. Fear can make you do things that you know in your heart are wrong. Fear can make you hurt the ones that matter most. Can you exist in life without fear? Of course not. But you can learn to recognize it and work to control it instead of letting it control you. And when it's time to apologize, let the words come from your heart, not your head. Don't tell her what you think she wants to hear. Let your words show her how you feel. Inside. From the most private place inside you. And if you're blessed to be with the type of woman that I am, you'll only need to say it once._

 _We'll be landing soon. Max and Freeway are having a great time in Seattle with Sarah and Michael. Jack Frost surprised them with a white Thanksgiving, so he'll be staying a couple of extra days. Your mother is asleep. She's all curled up under my jacket. I've been sitting here trying to finish another of Zane Grey's best, but I can't keep my eyes off her. She is so beautiful when she sleeps. Sometimes at night, when I can't sleep, I sneak into our dressing area and turn on the light. It lets just enough light into our bedroom that I can watch her sleeping without the risk of waking her. I definitely walk a thin line though. It's so hard to not touch her. Or kiss her. Or hold her. I have a feeling that when I watch you sleep, it will be the same way._

 _With the exception of one incident, this was the best holiday I've ever had. Being with your mom and your grandfather was wonderful. I love watching them together. They remind me of an old Vaudeville comedy team at times. Their quips back and forth are priceless. Your grandfather, as I've told you many times before, is quite a character. I am very blessed to have him as my father-in-law. He knows just when to give advice, and just when to hold his tongue. He's also a very shrewd Monopoly player, so watch out for that. I know how much it means to your mom to spend time with him. They are very close. We invited him to spend Christmas with us and he accepted. So we'll all be together (Max and Freeway too) next month. This will be our first family Christmas. And I've already sent word to Santa about what a good boy you are. So maybe we'll find a few things under the tree for you this year! I've already planned Mommy's present. I just need to double check the travel status with Dr. Sumner. It might be the last long distance trip she can take for a while._

 _Well, I'm busted. Your mom just opened her eyes and caught me looking. It's like she has radar or something. I tried to throw her off with my best innocent look, but she knows better. Now that she's awake, I better close._

 _I'm so thankful to be your father!_

 _Love,_

 _Me_

 **TBC**

 **C'mon...don't make me beg.**


	16. Chapter 16

The traffic, as predicted, was horrible. Not that downtown LA traffic was ever good. And adding a barrage of holiday shoppers to the mix just compounded the problem. Plus it was Friday, and most every motorist wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the city as possible. Jennifer nervously checked her watch. Only ten minutes until her appointment time and they still hadn't made it under the electric arm at the entrance of the parking garage. Jonathan could sense her frustration, and reached for her hand.

"We'll make it." He reassured her.

"I hate being late."

"Yes, I know how you abhor tardiness. It's most unbecoming for a lady." Again he imitated his father-in-law's voice. He flashed a smile, and she could do nothing but return the favor. She squeezed his hand and let her head fall back against the headrest in an effort to unwind. From the corner of her eye, she watched him. _How does he do it? He's always the picture of calm._

The car approached the entrance of the parking garage and Jonathan rolled down his window. He pressed the button, retrieved the parking ticket, and drove in. They found a space on Level Two right beside the elevators.

"The Parking Gods are with us." He smiled again before exiting the car.

They rode hand in hand up to Dr. Sumner's office on the third floor. Jennifer surveyed the waiting room, and her anxiety quickly returned. A crowd of pregnant bodies sat around the perimeter of the room, quietly engaged in the latest parenting magazines.

"Standing room only."

"I guess Dr. Sumner was called to the hospital." Jonathan whispered.

"I should have brought my manuscript." Jennifer gave him a disappointed look. "We might be here a while."

"I'll go sign in for us. Why don't you grab those two seats in the corner?" He patted her arm with a loving touch before approaching the frosted window at the receptionist's station. He added their name to the clipboard just as the window slid open. He was surprised to see Dr. Sumner on the other side.

"Mr. Hart. How are you?"

"I'm fine. And I see you're a busy man today." He pointed to the group of ladies in waiting.

"Oh, those aren't all mine." He shook his head. "I'm sharing my office with a couple of colleagues until the first of the year. Their office is being relocated, so I'm letting their patients meet here. You're my last appointment today, so you won't have to wait."

"My wife will be very happy to hear that. We have a holiday function to attend downtown tonight, and she gets very nervous when we're running late."

"The Spirit of Giving Gala?"

"That's the one."

"Then I'll have to get in gear myself, because my wife will not be happy if we're running late." Dr. Sumner checked his watch.

"So you'll be there too?"

"Yes. Actually, my wife does a lot of work with local charities through the Symphony League."

"Well, we look forward to seeing you and meeting her tonight." Jonathan smiled warmly.

He crossed the waiting room, sharing his smile with the other patients. Taking a seat next to Jennifer, he turned to her with the solemn expression.

"Bad news." He whispered.

"Bad news?" Her eyes were full of concern.

"Dr. Sumner just delivered a baby and has been called back to deliver triplets."

"What?"

"He might not be back for an hour—an hour and a half maybe."

"You're kidding, right?"

"And most of these ladies have been here since before three o'clock." He looked around the waiting room.

"Can't we reschedule for next week? Surely a week won't matter."

"Dr. Sumner's leaving for the holidays and won't be back for ten days. Going skiing in Colorado."

"He can't go skiing. What about his patients?"

"Well Darling, I'm sure the man would like to spend some time with his own family, don't you think?"

Jennifer folded her arms across her chest and sighed heavily. "We're never going to make it to the gala on time."

The door beside the receptionist's station opened and a young nurse stepped into the waiting area. "Jennifer Hart?" She called out with a pleasant tone.

"Gotcha." He stood, offering her his hand with a smile.

They followed the nurse and completed the usual routine of weighing in, taking blood pressure and submitting the obligatory urine sample. The nurse ushered them into an examination room where they waited for Dr. Sumner.

"You think you're pretty cute, don't you."

"Like I've told you before. You're with me. I personally guarantee to deliver you safely to and from any given destination. On time."

"Great. Now I'm a FedEx package." She rolled her eyes just as Dr. Sumner entered.

"Jennifer! How are you?" They exchanged handshakes.

"I'm fine."

"Well, let's not waste any time. Jonathan tells me you're en route to The Spirit of Giving Gala this evening." He removed a fetal Doppler heart monitor from the cabinet and reached for the bottle of clear ultrasound jelly.

"Yes we are."

"My wife and I will be in attendance as well. And I think your old friend Dr. Walsh might be there too."

"Really?"

"I know he'll be pleased to see you—all of you."

The doctor smiled down at Jennifer as he placed the monitor on her belly, gently moving it back and forth. Within seconds, they heard it. The unmistakable sound of their baby boy's heartbeat.

"One forty two. Perfect." He removed the monitor and wiped Jennifer's belly with several tissues."

"One forty two? That's a little faster than before." Jonathan commented with concern.

"Well, he's busy in there. And his sense of hearing has developed, so he can react to sounds from the outside world. I assume you're feeling quite a bit more movement now?"

"Yes, he's a busy bee. And he seems to be a night owl too. Just when I settle down, he thinks it's time to party."

Dr. Sumner smiled. "I know it seems that way. But he moves around quite a bit during the day, and you just aren't aware of it because you're on the go too. Once your body stops, and everything is still and quiet, you have nothing else to focus on except the party in your belly."

"That makes sense." She nodded in agreement.

"Any pain or discomfort of any kind?" Dr. Sumner measured the mass of her pregnant form with a tiny tape measurer.

"None."

"How 'bout sleeping? Are you still comfortable?"

"As long as she has her pillow entourage in tow, she's fine."

"Pillow entourage?" Dr. Sumner asked.

"One for her head, two for her back, one between her legs, a tiny one tucked just under her belly…"

"And where do you sleep, Jonathan?"

"That's a good question." Jonathan glanced at her with a mischievious expression. "She generously leaves me about a quarter of our bed."

"Listen, if you'd have stayed on your side of the bed, we wouldn't be here in the first place." She smiled back.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan stood behind the bar, mixing a short scotch and soda. Easy on the soda. Society functions, even when for a good cause, were not his cup of tea. Or his glass of whisky. Dressing up and stepping out with his gorgeous wife—yes. But listening to the same staid conversations again and again—no. He'd planned out the entire evening, and hopefully everything would go accordingly. Pregnant women tire easily, and he intended on putting this excuse to the test early on. _Shake a few hands, twirl my wife around the dance floor a couple of times, slip out the side door, and we're back home before the late news._ He raised the glass of twelve year old scotch to his lips just as Jennifer entered the living room.

"You. Look. Incredible." He placed his glass neatly on a cocktail napkin and strolled around the side of the bar toward her.

"You sure you like the black one? 'Cause I can go change."

"The black one…the red one…it doesn't matter. You look like a million bucks."

"Before or after taxes?" She draped her arms over his shoulders.

"After. You're one point three million if you're a nickel." He rubbed his nose playfully against hers.

The valet line was long, as most of the A-listers of the LA society scene waited to enter one of the biggest charity balls of the year. The trees surrounding The Four Seasons Hotel were alive and sparkling with tiny white lights. Everything looked fresh and festive, though the weather was more reminiscent of a late season beach vacation and not the Christmas holiday. Jennifer checked her face in the mirror once more.

"Now listen, there's something I think we need to discuss before we exit this vehicle." His tone was serious, and she noticed his tight grip on the steering wheel.

"Alright." Jennifer looked into his eyes, having absolutely no idea what declaration was coming her way.

"No matter what happens in there tonight, you are leaving here…in this car…with me. Agreed?"

"No shouting match at the Main entrance? No hasty cab getaway via the side exit?" She bit her lip.

"Precisely."

"Agreed." She offered her hand, and he shook it definitively with a smile.

"And one more thing," He pointed out the window to a mounted police officer. "That horse is off limits."

"Party pooper."

The convertible inched slowly along until they finally reached the main doors of the hotel. Jonathan opened his wife's door and guided her through the cluster of the city's elite; his hand firmly and protectively on her lower back. Fate had given him a gift in honor of the season, as the ball was being held in the larger, more formal ballroom. Though it had been months since that night, he still could see the look of betrayal on Jennifer's face the night he stood silently on a stage giving a speech he didn't remember.

It seemed like forever before they actually made it to the entrance of the ballroom. The well-wishers swirled around them—all wanting to catch a glimpse of Jonathan Hart's bride and the baby on board. Jennifer smiled and nodded with each step, secretly cursing her choice in footwear for the evening. _I should've listened to Max._ She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. _It's gonna be a long night,_ she considered, as she reached out to shake yet another hand.

"It's like the Rose Bowl Parade." He whispered to her. "Just smile and wave but keep moving."

Jonathan escorted her inside the doors of the ballroom, scanning the room for an open table.

"Over there, Darling." He motioned and led the way through the elegantly clad crowd with his fingers laced securely in hers. Jennifer kept her eyes firmly focused on the back of her husband's head but she couldn't ignore the ripple that traveled among the masses, as every head turned and watched them. He pulled out a chair at an unoccupied table and waited for her to get settled.

"Alright?" He asked lovingly.

"Fine."

"Something to drink?"

"I'll have a vodka martini. Make it a double." She smiled up at him, trying hard to overlook the eyes of the curious party goers around them.

"That bad?"

"I'm afraid so." She flashed a bright, fake smile his way.

"Will you be alright without me for two minutes?"

"I was a Girl Scout, Darling. I'm prepared for anything." She gave him a confident salute.

"Send up a smoke signal if you need me." He patted her arm before turning toward the nearest bar.

Jennifer watched as the most handsome man in the room walked away from her, stopping every few steps to shake more hands. _That's it! I guess I'm being a little vain. It's not me they're looking at. It's Jonathan._ She kept her eyes steadfastly focused on him, until after a moment, he disappeared in a sea of black tuxedos. Though she'd spent many evenings alongside the power players in both London and DC, she suddenly felt completely out of her element. The privileged crowd of her single days relished art, politics and intellect while LA seemed more concerned with outward appearances, gossip and the size of one's bank account. Her people watching skills were beyond stimulated and as her eyes traveled around the room, she counted no less than thirteen couples she could swear were exact replicas of Barbie and Ken. _So these are the beautiful people_ , she nodded to herself. _I bet their plastic surgeons are laughing all the way to the bank_. She jumped slightly when she felt a hand on her bare shoulder.

"Jennifer?"

"Diane!" She stood and greeted the wife of Jonathan's business associate and dear friend, Archer Martin.

"I thought that was you." She gave her a quick hug. "You look fabulous, my dear. Absolutely radiant."

"Well thank you very much. And you look stunning."

"Did you lose Jonathan to the bar?"

"I did. But he assured me it would just be momentarily. I assume that Archer is doing the same?"

"Indeed he is."

Jennifer motioned toward the table. "Join us?

"We'd love to join. Thank you."

Jennifer took her seat, smiling warmly at Diane. Though they'd been together only a couple of time—and both very brief—she'd instantly felt a connection with her. She was a very attractive woman in her early sixties. Smart. Funny. No pretense. No façade. She was the type of woman that when in her company, it was as if you were visiting with your own mother—attentive and caring and above all, genuine.

"How are your granddaughter's wedding plans coming along?" Jennifer inquired.

"I think most of the heavy lifting is done."

"They're getting married around Valentine's Day if I remember correctly?"

"You have an excellent memory." Diane complimented her.

"What could be more romantic than that?"

"Well, Jonathan and Archer smuggling us out of here and taking us dancing somewhere dark and quiet, for starters."

"So I take it you're not a fan of these events."

"I adore the cause, but despise the event. I'm all for setting up a drive-thru for these little shindigs. Just pull up, stick your check out the window, and move on. But then, how would the majority of these poor souls have a chance to show off their body work?"

"Excuse me ladies, but are these seats taken?" Archer Martin spoke from behind Diane before placing a glass of champagne on the table in front of his wife.

"Thank you, Dear."

"Jennifer! My goodness! You get more beautiful every time I see you."

"Thank you." She stood and shook hands with Diane's husband.

"Jonathan's on the way with our drinks. I was ahead of him in line at the bar, so I thought I'd take care of you ladies first." He placed a martini glass full of fruit juice in front of Jennifer before settling in beside his wife.

"That was very thoughtful." Jennifer nodded at him as she raised her glass.

"This is quite a turnout this year. Every year, more and more."

"The plastic surgeons in this town are bound to run out of silicon eventually." Diane tapped her glass against Jennifer's.

"Diane Martin! Behave yourself." Archer urged with a smile.

"Dear, it's okay. Jennifer and I play on the same team."

"So you're ready for the check too?" Archer asked.

"I'm fine for the moment but my feet are already crying foul." Jennifer whispered, pointing down toward the floor.

"Well, you have to save a least one dance for me before you go. I have to dance with the most beautiful woman—under sixty—in the room." He gave his wife a sly look and a peck on the cheek.

"Your drink, Guv'ner." Jonathan made it back to the table, holding out a highball glass to Archer.

"Thank you, kind sir."

"Well, I see it didn't take you ladies long to find each other." Jonathan bent down and kissed Diane's cheek. "You look lovely this evening, Mrs. Martin."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Hart. And you're handsome as ever."

"Eh, I clean up okay." He winked at Jennifer.

The two couples spent the next hour chatting away—sharing the happy news of approaching nuptials and newborn babies. Jennifer watched the shine in her husband's eyes grow as he described every movement of Baby Boy Hart to date. He'd always dazzled her with his ability to tell great stories but there was something different when he talked about their baby. His eyes and voice had a softness about them. And his hands—the expression in them was gentle and loving. She could still see the way he held the ultrasound pictures when they'd stopped for lunch on the way to the cabin. And the more he spoke, sharing the details of the most special part of their lives, the more she could feel herself slipping away.

The lights in the ballroom began to dim and the band started to play. And that's when she found herself unable to concentrate on the lively conversation around her. She drifted, remembering their night at the club in the wine country. Together on the dark dance floor, she fell deeper and deeper. Quietly she moved her chair closer to his, sliding her hand underneath the table and resting it comfortably on his thigh. Jonathan locked eyes with her for a moment then smiled, reading her thoughts with just a touch and a look.

"Would you two excuse us?" Jonathan pulled Jennifer's chair out and took her hand. Silently, they made their way to the crowded dance floor. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. Jennifer closed her eyes, allowing her body to relax against his. It only took a moment in his arms—the traffic, the uncomfortable shoes, and the sea of staring eyes just disappeared. His arms could make it all go away, leaving nothing but the two of them alone. He rubbed her back with a tender touch and losing track of where they were. It was just Jennifer. Her hair. Her perfume. The feel of her hand in his. Making love to her was by far the most pleasurable experience of his life. But holding her and dancing with her—it was just another way their bodies could exchange the deep, intense feelings they felt for one another. Resting her head on his shoulder, she softly hummed along as the band played one of the Gershwin's greatest. In classic Jonathan fashioned, he tickled her ear with his own version of the lyrics, laced with innuendo and double entendre. She couldn't stop laughing, which caused her to lose count. They stopped dancing and their eyes connected.

"You know, I didn't realize George and Ira were quite so risqué." She grinned.

"What can I say? Men are pigs." He turned with a naughty smirk, leading his wife off the dance floor. They made the obligatory stops en route back to the table. More introductions. More smiles and handshakes. Jennifer was actually beginning to enjoy herself somewhat when Jonathan stopped and turned around.

"Darling, are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine."

"Now don't be brave for my sake. You're not feeling well… _right_?" He gave her a wink.

"Oh! Yes! You're right. I'm not feeling very well. I think you should take your pregnant wife home."

"That's my girl." He squeezed her hand and they continued on toward their table to say goodnight to Archer and Diane.

"I need to make a detour to the ladies room first. I'll meet you back at the table, we'll say our goodbyes, and then be on our way. Okay?"

"Alright. But hurry." He kissed her hand before letting go of it.

She was somewhat surprised to find the ladies restroom deserted. Jennifer walked quickly to the last stall, unsure if she would make it in time. _Pregnant women live on the toilet,_ she considered, as she struggled with her dress. The speaker above her head piped in serene Christmas music and she mentally went over her Santa to-do list. She lost her train of thought when she heard loud, laughing voices enter the lounge area. Obviously, they'd just heard a great joke or they'd had too much to drink. Or both.

"Is anyone in there?" She heard a woman ask.

"No, I don't think so." Another woman replied.

Jennifer was just about to announce her presence to the other ladies when she heard her husband's name mentioned in their colorful conversation.

"Well, what did I tell you? Jonathan Hart goes down like the rest of them."

"I think this might be the real deal though. Did you see the way they were dancing? The way he's been looking at her all night? She's a writer I think."

"Writer! No, Hon. She's a reporter. For some trash tabloid back in New York."

"A tabloid reporter? Are you sure? She doesn't exactly look like the type."

Jennifer bit down hard on her lip to suppress a giggle. She knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but they weren't exactly trying to be quiet. And how often does one get to be the proverbial fly on the wall?

"She probably has something on him. Insider trading maybe? Tax evasion?"

"Well, from what I can tell, it looks like an old fashioned love story."

"And from what I can tell, it looks like old fashioned entrapment."

"No, I don't think so."

"Do the math, Honey. They just got married in September and already she's as big as a house."

"She is not as big as a house and you know it. She's a beautiful woman. You've got to admit they look incredible together."

"Yes, well, had I known that all it took was red hair and a uterus, I'd have gotten a dye job and hit the maternity boutiques years ago."

"Well, Nikki Stephanos had a uterus and he sure didn't run down the aisle for her, did he?"

"Good point. He certainly didn't."

"But when you have Jonathan Hart's money, I guess you can allow your bastard child to run around all over Europe without guilt."

"Just a monthly check to the finest Swiss boarding schools…"

The woman's voice trailed off and Jennifer heard the outer door close. She cautiously opened the door to the stall and peeked out. Slowly she moved to the sink to wash her hands. Staring up at her reflection in the mirror, she shook her head in denial. Her heart was beating wildly inside her, and she began to feel lightheaded. Carefully, she walked on shaky legs to the chaise in the lounge area. She sat down and tried to calm her breathing. But the pain in her heart rapidly ascended to her head, and she felt the words pounding inside her brain…over and over again. _Nikki Stephanos. Bastard child._

Jonathan eyed his watch for the third time. _Where is she? Surely the line isn't that long. There are restrooms all over this hotel._

"Listen Diane, could I trouble you for one minute?"

"You want me to go check on her?"

"Would you?"

"I'll be right back." Diane stood and made her way across the ballroom to the outer alcove. She found Jennifer lying down on the chaise just inside the ladies room; her face pale and beads of sweat clinging to her forehead.

"Jennifer? Are you okay?" She bent down, placing her hand lightly on Jennifer's shoulder.

"Just give me a minute…I'll be okay."

"You stay right here. I'm going to get Jonathan."

"No! Please—don't." She reached out for Diane's hand.

"Let me get you some water then. You're probably dehydrated. I'll be right back." Diane quickly walked back to the ballroom, running into Jonathan just as she stepped inside the main doors.

"Did you find her?" He asked with concern.

"Oh Jonathan, I'm afraid she's sick. She's lying down in the lounge just inside the ladies room. You go on. I'm going to get her something to drink." She touched his elbow then continued on toward the bar.

Jonathan jogged to the ladies room, not bothering to knock before he entered.

"Darling?" He kneeled down beside her. "Please tell me this is all part of your act." Looking down into her eyes, he knew she wasn't acting.

"I'll be okay. I just felt faint."

"Let me go get Dr. Sumner." He started to stand, but she grabbed his hand, pulling him back down beside her.

"No! Do not bother Dr. Sumner. I think it's just an allergy. I'm allergic, that's all."

"Allergic? To what?" He asked.

"This hotel."

Diane opened the door as Archer and Jonathan helped Jennifer into the passenger seat. Jonathan reclined the seat slightly, secured her seat belt around her then gently closed the door.

"I can't thank you two enough." He turned back toward the Martins. "I'm sorry we have to cut our evening short."

"We're just sorry that Jennifer's not feeling well. Please let us know if we can do anything for you. Anything at all." Diane patted Jonathan's hand.

"We really did enjoy our time with you. Let's get together real soon. Right after the holidays? That is if you're not too deep in the wedding."

"We'll make time. I'll give you a call." Archer extended his hand and the two men shook firmly.

"Good night." Jonathan smiled as he opened his car door.

Once inside the car, he turned to an easy listening station before pulling away from the valet stand. Jennifer remained silent with eyes closed. Her body appeared to be tense and from the expression on her face, he knew she really was feeling poorly. _Careful what you wish for_. He reached for her hand, holding it snugly in his.

"Darling, I'm so sorry this happened. I guess our little plan backfired." Gently, he rubbed his thumb across hers, hoping in some small way to help her relax.

"I'll be alright." She whispered.

"Are you hungry? I bet you're hungry. You only ate two bites."

"I'm a little hungry I guess."

"What sounds good? You name the place. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

"You know what sounds really good?"

"What?"

"Chez Hart."

"Chez Hart it is." He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing it tenderly.

They drove home in silence. Jonathan switched the radio off for fear of compounding her headache. He tried his best to come up with some viable reason for her near fainting spell. Dr. Sumner explained it could be one or a combination of things. Further, he reassured him that pregnant women sometimes faint, and that rarely does it have any ill effects on mother or fetus. And since Jennifer had only become lightheaded, he was certain that all she needed was sound, quiet rest. Though she'd attempted a protest, Jonathan would not allow her to leave the hotel without being fully checked out first. Dr. Sumner left Jonathan with his home number just in case they suffered a rough night.

The house was dark when they arrived, with Barbara and Max braving the stores to complete the last of their holiday shopping. Carefully, he helped her upstairs to their bedroom with Freeway following close behind. She kicked her shoes off as he unzipped her dress, holding her steady as she stepped out of it. From the dressing area, he quickly retrieved his pajama top. With loving care, he secured each button then gave her a big smile.

"Well, this is a first. I'm buttoning you up inside this. Isn't it usually the other way around?"

"The other way is better." She tried to smile.

"You get in bed and I'll bring up a tray for you." He tossed his tuxedo jacket on the chaise. "C'mon Freeway. Come help me downstairs. Mommy is sick. Let's get something to make her feel better."

Jennifer watched them until they disappeared from view. She pulled the sheets back and crawled into bed, adjusting the mountain of pillows around her. Her head was still throbbing, but she'd refused Dr. Sumner's offer of any pain medication. Deep down, she knew her pain couldn't be cured with a pill. She needed one thing: the truth. Calm. Rational. Truth. No yelling. No accusations. No ghost of Thanksgiving past. She rested her head on her pillow and waited. _What do I say? Oh Darling, I had the tires rotated on the Suburban and by the way, I meant to ask you. Did you have a child with another woman?_ She pulled the sheets up over her shoulder, as the echoes of the ladies room conversation left her with an icy feeling inside.

Jonathan returned with a tray full with her most recent cravings in hand. Freeway resumed his spot under Jennifer's desk. She opened her eyes when she felt him sit down on the edge of their bed.

"Here, let me help you." He reached out, taking her hand and pulling her into an upright position. He readjusted her pillows with loving care

"How's that? Okay?" He asked.

"Jonathan, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"You need to eat first. Eat, then lights out. We can talk in the morning."

"This can't wait 'til the morning." She looked at him.

"Alright." He nodded, noting the serious tone in her voice. It mirrored the look in her autumn eyes.

She took a deep breath, trying to remain composed. "I'm not exactly sure how to start."

"Just say it. Whatever it is, it will be okay. I promise." He took her hand in his, feeling his heartbeat kick into high gear.

She paused and looked down at their hands. "Two women came into the restroom while I was in there. They were very loud and very animated in their conversation." Her words were soft, almost a whisper. She avoided his eyes as she traced the lines of their intertwined fingers.

"Was this before or after you felt faint?"

"Before."

"Let me guess…they didn't know you were in there, right?"

"Right."

"And they were talking about us, right?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Because our names were on everyone's lips tonight. Surely you heard it too?"

"I tried to tune it out."

"So what exactly did you overhear?"

"Well, after deciding that I wasn't some trashy tabloid reporter like they'd originally suspected, they guessed that I used my uterus to trap you."

Jonathan sighed. _God, I hate the women in this town!_

"Jennifer, you and I both know that's not true. I proposed to you right after your surgery, remember? We'd made love only one time. And we'd already planned our entire wedding when you got pregnant." He reached out and lifted her chin up—forcing her to look at him. "I don't know why, but the women in this town can be vicious and nasty. They loathe any sort of competition. And I'd be willing to bet this isn't the first time you've encountered such grandiose jealousy. We're just gonna have to trade in this soft skin for something a little more tough and resilient." He paused a moment and offered a smile—one to which she didn't respond.

"Jennifer, why are you letting this bother you?" He shook his head with uncertainty.

"That's not the part that bothered me." She slipped her hand from his grasp. "It's what they said after that." She looked down, twisting her wedding ring around on her finger.

"What did they say?"

A moment of silence passed before she brought her eyes up to meet his.

"They wondered why you didn't marry Nikki after she got pregnant."

 **And cue cliffhanger music.**

 **Alright, you know what to do.**

 **Don't make me beg.**


	17. Chapter 17

Jennifer held her breath, eagerly anticipating his response. The seconds seemed like an eternity. _Why is he just sitting there? Why won't he look at me? Oh God! No! It can't be true. Don't let it be true!_ Thousands of emotions ran through her and she knew his silence could only mean one thing.

"Jonathan?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Please say something." She knew that at any moment she'd be helpless to control the flood of tears behind her eyes.

It was then he realized his moment of quiet reflection had conveyed something other than the truth to her. He saw the fear inside her eyes, and he wouldn't make her wait a moment longer. Reaching out for her, he pulled her body to his.

"Oh Jennifer…" He hugged her close, running his fingers through her hair.

"Please tell me it's not true." The first tears began their quiet descent down her cheeks.

"Of course it's not true. It's not true." Gently he rocked her in his arms, whispering the words over and over again. He felt relief wash over her, as she melted against him.

"But why would they say those things? I don't understand."

Jonathan took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as he collected his thoughts. "Well, because when Nikki and I finally called it quits, she was pregnant," He paused, looking straight into her eyes. "With someone else's baby. Not mine."

Jennifer could see the truth in his blue eyes along with a tiny amount of pain. And with that pain, came a new wave of fear and unanswered questions. Had he wanted a child with Nikki? How deeply had she hurt him? She wanted to know everything, but only if he was ready. He'd shared some intimate details of past relationships with her, but very little about Nikki Stephanos _. Some innermost rooms remain dark for a reason._

"I should have told you. But honestly, I didn't think it was that important." He looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry you had to find out the way you did."

"What happened?"

"It's a long story. Why don't you eat and then I'll tell you all about it in the morning, okay?"

"A long story or a painful one?" She tried to gauge his motivation for avoiding the topic.

"Long and painful but not for the reasons you might think." He reached for the tray, resting it neatly on her lap. "Now, I want you eat."

He gave her a loving smile, and as he lightly stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, the doorbell rang. Instantly, their heads snapped in the direction of the alarm clock on the bedside table.

"Who would be ringing our doorbell at this hour?"

"I don't know." He walked briskly from their bedroom, closing the doors behind him before continuing down the stairs. He peeked out the window, relived to see Max outside the front door.

"Just a minute, Max." He called, fumbling with the lock.

"Sorry, Mr. H. We made a stop back at Barbara's and I musta left my keys at her place." He turned and waved to Barbara before shutting the door.

"It's okay." Jonathan relocked the door.

"Is Mrs. H already in bed?"

"She's still awake. We haven't been home that long."

"How was the ball?"

"Lots of flash, not much substance. The typical society scene. But they raised a lot of money." It was then Jonathan noticed Max was empty handed. "I guess you didn't fare too well with the shopping."

"Nope. I'm done. I've made my list, checked it twice, and I'm finished."

"Then where are your gifts?"

"Back at Barbara's. She's wrapping everything for me."

"Gift wrap service? And she chauffeured you around?"

"Can I help it if I'm just that good?" Max shrugged.

"Do you need anything before I head back up?"

"No." The old man shook his head.

"Goodnight, Max." Jonathan touched his shoulder before heading back upstairs.

"'Night, Mr. H."

As he approached the top of the stairs, he glanced in the direction of the guest room, feeling a warm smile on his lips. _One more peek?_ He asked himself, though he and Jennifer had taken a quick look earlier that day. He paused at their bedroom door for a moment before continuing down the hall. His feet carried him to the door of what would soon be his son's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar but the room was dark. Slowly, he pushed the door open and ran his hand along the wall for the light switch. With a click, a soft white light filled what would surely become the happiest room in their home. The walls were alive with a host of soothing colors—rich cream, buttery yellow, watery blues, and muted greens. Images of stars surrounded him, suspended in a cheerful sky. And a Little Prince, perched proudly atop a distant planet, looked down upon him with quiet confidence. He'd stepped inside the pages of a children's book, as the drawings of St. Exupery's famed work was brought to life, dancing playfully around the perimeter of their baby boy's room. The floor was littered with paint cans and brushes, all shapes and sizes, resting atop a splattered drop cloth. The artist he'd commissioned to create this magical world for his son had far exceeded his expectations. Every stroke was perfect; every detail precise. His eyes continued to travel around the room, and he smiled has he read the neatly lettered quotes that hung just below the crown molding. Each wall held a different yet cherished quote from the celebrated story. The words of a young hero. The wisdom of an aged soul. In the far corner of the room, he eyed the new crib. His smile turned to a laugh, as he recalled the comedy of errors that occurred the night he and Max assembled it…

 _"It won't fit Mr. H." Max shook his head._

 _"It's gotta fit. Let's try turning it this way…" Jonathan motioned with his hands._

 _"I'm telling you this won't work. We've turned it every which but loose."_

 _"Damn!" Jonathan wiped the sweat from his brow. "How is it that you can slide a king size bed through any door, but a little crib won't fit?"_

 _"Well, I guess we've learned a very valuable bit of information."_

 _"Yeah? What's that?" He gave Max an exasperated look._

 _"Read the directions first." Max held out the assembly manual, pointing to a specific page. Jonathan took the booklet from him and read the line aloud._

 _"Note: Assemble crib in room where crib will remain. Crib dimensions are greater than standard door widths." Jonathan looked up Max, dumbfounded._

 _"Back to work." Max rolled his eyes and handed Jonathan a screwdriver._

Carefully, Jonathan navigated around the collection of the artist's tools to the crib. It was the only piece of furniture they'd purchased. The only piece Jennifer knew about anyway. Santa would be delivering the remaining goodies for them in another week. His goal was to have the nursery finished in time for Stephen's arrival—and as an extra holiday surprise for his wife. Looking down into the crib, he imagined the tiny body that would rest peacefully inside. Leaning over, he gently rubbed his hand back and forth across the soft white sheet with a smile. The feelings inside him were unlike anything he'd experienced. He'd never wanted a child—never thought of himself raising a child. He remembered the night Nikki had informed him of her pregnancy—and the ice cold chill that ran through him. The words 'I'm pregnant' had barely left her mouth, and already he'd felt like running. Of course he would never allow his own flesh and blood to grow up fatherless, as he'd had to. But Nikki…Nikki was a different story. She was everything that a man could want—beautiful, kind, smart and funny. And no matter how hard he'd tried, he just didn't love her. They'd been the closest of friends and shared quiet times in each other's beds. But it hadn't been enough. The thought of being forever bound to a woman who was anything less than his soul mate scared him. He didn't want to play house.

Looking around, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else in his life than exactly where he stood. And it was all because of one person. _If you love a flower that lives on a star, it is sweet to look up at the night sky,_ he read the words above his head. One amazing woman had changed everything—changed him. It was as if was The Little Prince and Jennifer, his precious flower. His rose. And he was still learning to hold on loosely without letting go. Taking care not to crush her velvety petals. Close enough to linger in her intoxicating fragrance, but with enough distance to allow the world to admire her grace and beauty. Once more, the words of Nikki's father crept quietly back into his thoughts. _"My family is my greatest accomplishment, Jonathan. Not my business. Not my luxuries."_

Jennifer. Max. Stephen. Even Freeway. He knew he was already enjoying the blessing of a perfect family. And now, in just a few short months, a baby. He returned to the door, turning for one last look before flipping the light off. Another smiled crossed his lips, and he pulled the door closed.

He tiptoed back into their bedroom, finding the mostly empty tray on his side of the bed. Jennifer's back was to him, but he knew she wasn't asleep. He quietly moved the tray from the bed and turned to find sad eyes looking up at him.

"Jonathan, I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

She wiped her eyes with the edge of the sheet. "A part of me doubted you."

"Hey," He smoothed her hair back away from her face. "It's okay."

"No it's not okay."

"I'm the one that should be apologizing. I should have told you. It's not that I was trying to keep it from you, because I certainly have nothing to hide. Nikki got pregnant by someone else. That was it." He spoke matter-of-factly, but she knew that somewhere inside him, there was a tiny piece of him that hurt. She knew she should let it go until morning, but…

"You must have been really hurt, huh?"

"The truth? I was relieved it wasn't mine." He stood, pulling his bow tie from around his neck.

"Relieved? You mean you didn't want a child with her?"

"I didn't want a child with anyone. Until now." He gave her a smile.

"But you must have been so upset that she was sleeping with someone else."

"Not really. We'd already called it quits by then."

"What?" Jennifer was surprised. "Why?"

"We'd been unhappy together for a while. We knew we didn't really love each other and agreed that it was time to move on. She'd been secretly seeing someone by that time anyway. Only, it wasn't a secret to me. She'd been in love with one of her father's closest business associates for years. But he was twice her age, and her father would have never given his blessing. And having her father's blessing was everything. Nikki wouldn't disappoint her father. Well, they'd only been seeing each other a short time when she got pregnant." Jonathan paused again, taking a deep breath. "And then her father got sick. Very sick. She didn't have the heart to tell him because she knew he'd be devastated. See, we were still operating in public as a couple at this point. We talked about it and decided that in time, we'd tell him the truth. But he continued to deteriorate. And to complicate matters, her man walked out on her when he found out about the baby. Said he had no intention of raising another family at his age. Said his kids were grown and he wasn't starting over."

"How awful." She shook her head disapprovingly.

"He denied the baby was even his. Said that I'd gotten her pregnant. It got pretty ugly."

"Oh Jonathan…" Jennifer could not hide the shock in her voice. "Why didn't you just tell her father the truth? Surely he would have understood?"

"He would have been crushed to find out that his business partner—a man he had a great amount of respect for—and his baby girl were slipping around behind his back. Not only that, he was overjoyed. It was the only slight improvement we saw in his health there at the end. He was so happy believing that Nikki and I were going to have a baby." Jonathan looked away, and Jennifer noticed his sadness. She allowed him a much needed moment of silence before responding.

"So you let an old man die in peace?"

"Yes."

"Knowing that rumors would run rampant?"

"Yes."

"And you stood beside a woman, pretending that the child she carried was yours, all in the name of someone else's happiness?"

"That's pretty much it." He turned his honest blue eyes up to meet hers.

She reached for his hands and held them tightly. Her eyes connected with his in a way they never had before. She'd found yet another layer to him. She thought she knew every part of him-every level of Jonathan's inner being. And what had he done? Surprised her again with his selfless humanity and compassion.

"I have never been more proud of you than I am at this moment."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _My Little Prince,_

 _Has it really been a week since I've had a chance to sit down and write? The Christmas season is in full swing, and we've been so busy getting ready for the holiday. The last two weeks have been spent on the town-parties, parties, and more parties. We've enjoyed ourselves, but I'm ready for a break. Your grandfather will be flying in tomorrow afternoon, and there's still so much to do. I've got a couple of gifts to wrap and your father's up to his ears in end of year meetings. I feel like we've hardly seen each other lately, but once he gets home tonight, he's all mine. I finally came up with what I think will be the perfect gift for him. Max begged me to tell him, but I'm keeping this one a secret. I just hope Daddy's business affairs are squared away until the New Year!_

 _Looking at my daily planner, I can hardly believe that we've made it to the twenty-four week mark. You are really growing. You've gained about half a pound this week. You're really starting to fill out and look more like a newborn now. You weigh about a pound and a half, and if you were to make a surprise holiday appearance right now, you'd have an excellent chance of making it. But don't get any ideas. We're happy having you simmer the winter away in cozy darkness in there! Just think of Mommy as your own personal stocking. You're about as long as a ruler and I know from your recent bout of tumbling that you enjoy stretching your little legs. Daddy has always had a hard time keeping his hands off my belly, but now it's nearly impossible. He's so anxious to feel you moving around in there. I've never seen him so excited or so happy. And seeing the happiness in his eyes is the greatest gift I could ever receive. I really don't need anything under the tree. Everyday I spend with him is like Christmas!_

 _I know I've said it before, but your father is truly an amazing man. I've never known anyone to be so attentive, so generous, and so caring. We were at a charity function recently, and I learned something new about him. Something that surprised me, but then didn't surprise me. The strength of that man's character is immeasurable. I know that if everyone had a friend like your daddy—one true friend—the world would be a much better place. A world where the well-being and happiness of others comes first. A world that, though it may mock and ridicule you, you are eager and willing to embrace. The story of your father's loving kindness and acceptance of a dear friend renews the spirit of Christmas in me, reminding me of the very reason for the season: a tiny baby…a blessing to the world…given to everyone…to be that one true friend._

 _Merry Christmas, my angel,_

 _Mommy_

 _XXXXXXXXXX_

"What the hell?" Max looked over the top of his newspaper.

"Where's Jennifer?" He whispered.

"Upstairs, I think."

"Good. Help me hide these down in the wine cellar?"

"Sure thing." Max quietly followed Jonathan, shaking his head in disbelief. "You think there's any room left in there?"

"Very funny."

"I hope you've hired some elves to help schlep all this loot to the tree." He gave Jonathan a look.

"Max, don't be a Scrooge. I want our first Christmas to be really special."

"For you or for her?" Max eyed a new catcher's mitt and train set in the corner.

"For her, of course."

Max silently took inventory of the collection of bags and boxes scattered about the floor of the wine cellar. "My guess is that toy salesmen have the same effect on you as car salesmen."

They returned to the living room just as Jennifer called out his name.

"We're down here, Darling." He called back to her.

"I'll be down in a minute." She hollered back from their bedroom.

At the bar, Jonathan poured a glass of chocolate flavored vodka over a smooth ice cube. For his wife, a glass of cranberry juice in a tall Collins glass, complete with an orange wedge. The living room was aglow with sparkling lights and fresh garland. It looked and smelled just like Christmas but the conditions of humid Los Angeles were not cooperating. The weather outside was not frightful. And to build a fire, no matter how delightful, would seem ludicrous. He looked around the room again then walked to the thermostat, humming a holiday tune as he adjusted the temperature to one that Jack Frost would find acceptable. With a clap of his hands, he turned and headed to the fireplace. He went to work building a small fire, whistling a seasonal melody.

"It's kinda warm at the Pole for a fire." She commented upon entering the living room.

"What can I say? Santa is a hopeless romantic."

Jennifer glanced toward the kitchen. "Is Max still here?"

"Yep." He turned back to his task. "I think Barbara will be here any minute though."

"He's really been looking forward to this all day."

"He wants to show off for everyone back at ICU. I know they'll be amazed at his progress."

"It was sweet of Barbara to invite him. I'm glad he's getting out and into the holiday spirit."

"A party full of nurses? Are you kidding me? I'm sure it didn't take much convincing. And now we'll finally have the place all to ourselves before Grandfather Christmas arrives tomorrow."

"Did you have a chance to talk to Archer today?"

"Yes, and he said that he and Diane will stop in for a bit tomorrow evening. But they can't stay for dinner."

"Well, it will be nice to see them again."

Max poked his head into the living room. "Barbara will be here in a couple of minutes. Which one? The red or the green?" Max held up two silk ties.

"I like the red, I think. Very festive." Jennifer smiled.

"I have to agree. Go with the red." Jonathan nodded.

He continued his chore of building an ambient fire, while Jennifer adjusted a few of the ornaments on the tree. Since their return from Maryland, he'd come home everyday with a brand new ornament for their tree. _Twelve days of Christmas just isn't enough,_ he'd told her with a grin as he presented her with yet another ornament. Surveying the room, she couldn't contain her smile. She was living inside a Christmas card. A snapshot of what every family dreams of in December. A picture that had nothing to do with presents or packages of any kind. And she was one of the lucky ones, knowing this image would last all year long. They were together—enjoying the love they shared, wrapped in happiness and health. Their schedules had been crazy, and they hadn't spent a night at home alone, just the two of them, in a while. And though she loved Max, she couldn't wait to be alone with Jonathan with just the glow of the fire and the Christmas lights around them. They'd planned their evening weeks in advance: dinner for two, a classic holiday DVD and their own private gift exchange. The perfect holiday party for two. Two and a half. Placing her hands on her pregnant belly, she closed her eyes for a moment, thankful for the blessings around her.

"Jennifer, are you okay?" Jonathan looked back at her curiously.

"I've never been better." She shared a sweet smile.

The doorbell rang, and Jonathan stood, dusting his hands as he walked to answer the door.

"Barbara, you look lovely. Come in…"

"Thank you." She smiled and stepped inside.

"Hi Barbara!" Jennifer called from the living room.

"Hi Jennifer. Wow! Everything looks so beautiful." Barbara's smiling eyes traveled around the room.

"You think Santa will approve?" Jonathan asked.

"I think Santa won't want to leave."

"Santa may not want to go, but we better." Max entered, wearing the bright green tie and carrying a bottle of champagne.

"Max, what happened to the red one?" Jonathan pointed at the front of his shirt.

"Well, I like how the green one brings out the color of my wallet." He winked at Barbara.

"I thought this was a Christmas party?" Jennifer traded looks with Jonathan.

"It is. We're meeting up with the guys at Sal's place later for a little five card."

"Nothing says Christmas like poker." Jonathan looked back at Jennifer.

"We won't be too late." Barbara straightened Max's tie then turned toward the door. Together, they walked arm and arm, with Jonathan and Jennifer following behind.

"Have a good time." Jonathan gave Max a friendly pat on the back.

"And drive safely." Jennifer added.

"We will." Barbara waved.

"Goodnight." Jennifer waved back, and Jonathan closed and locked the door.

They stood staring at one another. They'd eagerly anticipated this moment for days. Jonathan reached over, resting his hand on the light switch. He gave her a warm smile, then flipped the first switch. The light above their heads went out. A second later, the lights in the living room disappeared, and Jonathan wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head in her hair. He could taste the sweetest of her skin as he nuzzled the special spot on her neck. The house was dark, with only the lights from the fireplace and the Christmas tree around them.

"It's the eve of Christmas Eve." He looked into her eyes.

"Yes it is."

"You know what that means, don't you?" His voice was seductive.

"What?"

"Pizza." He whispered softly in her ear.

Jennifer bit her lip, trying to control her laughter. "Do you want to call it in, or shall I?

"It's all been taken care of."

"Then why don't I go upstairs and slip into something more comfortable."

"That," He kissed her once more. "sounds like a fabulous idea."

"I'll be down in ten minutes."

"I'll be up in five." He winked.

He left Jennifer at the foot of the staircase then made a beeline for the tree. Shifting the mountain of brightly wrapped packages, he searched until he located a slender box. They'd agreed to exchange one gift on the 23rd, knowing they'd be alone for the first time since Thanksgiving. No parties. No guests. No interruptions. The start of a new tradition. Their intimate gift exchange had one stipulation. It had to be handmade—Jennifer's idea. Jonathan smiled at the gift in his hand, then placed it on the hearth. From the moment she'd suggested it, he'd known exactly what he'd give her. And as far as he knew, she had no idea. A call to Stephen had confirmed the particulars, and he'd been preparing tirelessly for three weeks. Reaching for the poker, he stoked the fire until the flames grew brighter. He felt her hand on his shoulder, and placed his lovingly on hers. Side by side, they watched the fire in silence. Their first Christmas together. A lifetime of holiday memories on the way. She squeezed his hand, guiding him to the sofa. They snuggled together and continued to watch the flames, his hands resting gently on her belly.

"I don't need anything except you. This is what Christmas is all about." He kissed the top of her head.

"I've been dreaming of this moment all day." She gently rubbed the tops of his hands with her own.

"Did you decide on the movie?"

"Yes."

"So what's it gonna be? _White Christmas_ or _It's a Wonderful Life_?"

"Neither. How 'bout _Miracle on 34_ _th_ _Street_?"

"How 'bout _Miracle on a white sofa_?" His hands found their way underneath her sweater.

"Jonathan, your hands are freezing."

"You know what they say."

"Cold hands, warm heart?"

"I've got something warm for you but it's not my heart. Think a little _lower_."

"Jonathan!" She shook her head. "Santa is watching." She warned.

"I'm a lost cause." He ran his hands gently across her breasts. "I've been on the naughty list for years."

Jennifer laughed out loud, nodding in agreement. She turned her smiling face up to his, kissing his chin lightly. The doorbell chimed, forcing Jonathan to retreat.

"Saved by the bell." He joked, climbing over the back of the sofa.

"I think an angel just got his wings." She winked.

Walking toward the door, he fished his wallet from his back pocket. A young man stood on the other side; a large pizza box in hand. Jonathan greeted him with a smile.

"You don't have change for a hundred, do you?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I can only make change for twenty. You know you can stop in and pay us anytime. It's no problem."

"Merry Christmas, Nico. Give you Grandfather my best, will you?" He pressed the bill into the young man's hand and shook it warmly.

"Thank you, Mr. Hart. I will. Merry Christmas to you too, sir." The young man smiled gratefully.

He returned to the living room and placed the box squarely on the coffee table.

"Dinner is served."

"You ordered from Nino's place?" Jennifer flipped the box open and eyed the pizza.

"Well, this is our first Christmas together. No ordinary pizza would do. I'll pour us some fresh drinks and you get the plates. Deal?"

"Done." She extended her hand, and he pulled her up off the sofa.

Jonathan returned to the bar, eyeing the piano with a smirk. He poured them each a Perrier and returned to the sofa. Jennifer joined him seconds later, plates and napkins in hand.

"Japanese style, or will that be too uncomfortable for you?"

"I think I'll be okay."

He grabbed a few pillows from the sofa while she served. They settled themselves on the floor and he looked at her with serious eyes.

"There's no where in the world that I'd rather be right now, than spending this night—and every night—with you."

"Me too." She reached out and rubbed his arm tenderly.

As they enjoyed their fireside dinner, they discussed the game plan for the following day: the logistics of getting Stephen from the airport, drinks with the Martins, the family gift exchange, and, if she had the energy, a midnight service. They both agreed on a very traditional yet very relaxed holiday. No rushing. No stress. They would savor every moment of it, knowing that the dynamic would be different with each passing year with the footsteps of a little boy to guide their way.

Jonathan helped carry their dishes into the kitchen, offering to load the dishwasher while Jennifer took Freeway on a short walk. He could see them down near the pool as he stood at the sink, rinsing their glasses. Quietly, he studied her pregnant form. _My God, she is so incredibly beautiful. I never stood a chance._ But as much as he was possessed by her beauty, he knew it went well beyond what he saw on the exterior. It was the woman inside that made his heart race. All those little piece of Jennifer that made him thankful to be her husband. Kindness. Compassion. Intellect. Wit. Every positive character trait personified the woman he saw outside the window. Even the flip side of her character coin excited him. Saucy. Opinionated. Argumentative. Strong-willed. She had touched him in ways that no person ever had before. He could be nothing but his truest self with her. The water ran over the tops of his hands, and his mind drifted back to the first time she'd been in his apartment—the day he fell.

He couldn't help smiling as he recalled the playfulness of their flirtatious conversations. They had it, whatever it was…right from the very start. Magic. Chemistry. A connection. If he searched every ancient language, he'd still come up short. A word to describe what they had just didn't exist. _We are…we simply are…_ He smiled again, watching her coax Freeway back to the house.

"Mother Nature must be from The Bahamas." Jennifer locked the door behind her.

"Not very Christmassy out there, is it?" He dried his hands.

"No, but it feels good in here."

"I think I heard Santa in the other room." He motioned over his shoulder.

"Did you? Does that mean it's time for presents?"

"I believe it does." He bowed slightly and extended his arm. "After you, Mrs. Hart."

Back in the living room, Jonathan stoked the dwindling fire once more, adding another small log. Jennifer searched through the mass of presents beneath the tree, then smiled as she removed a tiny box. It was wrapped in plain brown parcel paper, and tied with a tasteful red silk ribbon. She resumed her spot on the sofa and watched Jonathan _. I don't know what it is, but there's just something about watching a handsome man build a fire..._

Jonathan turned around and caught her eye. He couldn't restrain his grin. "I believe you're staring, Jennifer."

"I'm not staring. I'm looking."

"Looking, staring…it's all the same to me."

"As long as the end result is the same?"

"Exactly." He returned the poker to its stand and grabbed his gift from the hearth. Beside the sofa, he looked down at her with his infectious smile. "Move over, Red."

Jennifer laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him down beside her. Looking at his gift, she gave a quiet giggle.

"Did you wrap that all by yourself?"

"I certainly did. But you can't open it yet."

"Why not?"

"Well, it wouldn't be fair. I get to open my gift first."

"How would you opening your gift first be fair?"

"I'm the oldest. Age before beauty, right?"

"Of course."

"I know. Let's play a game. Winner opens first."

"Rock, Paper, Scissors?"

"Do, Dump, or Date—the Holiday Version."

Jennifer gave him a sideways look. "The Holiday Version?"

"I'll give you three choices, and if you're stumped, I get to open my gift first. Fair enough?"

"If we must." She eyed him suspiciously.

Jonathan paused, running his finger across his chin in thought. Jennifer laughed again, knowing he'd been planning this little game for some time.

"Ebenezer Scrooge, The Grinch, and Old Man Potter."

"Gee thanks."

"Take your time."

Jennifer nodded quietly in thoughtful reflection. "The Patrick Stewart Scrooge or the George C. Scott Scrooge?"

"It doesn't matter." He shook his head.

"It does to me." She continued to think, humming softly to herself. "Is the Grinch animated or live-action?"

"You're stalling."

"These are legitimate questions." She paused again, determined to make him wait. "How much do you think the Barrymore estate is worth today? Roughly?"

"Jennifer?"

"What?" She gave him a sly grin.

"Would you just let me open my present already?"

She turned her autumn eyes to him and held out the small box. "All you had to do was ask."

Jonathan took the gift and inspected the wrapping. "You did this yourself?"

"Wrapped with love."

"It's kinda small."

"It's not the size that counts."

"That's not what you told me last night."

"Jonathan!" She gave his arm a good-natured slap.

Smiling once more, he carefully removed the ribbon and paper. Inside, he found a plain white box—no crest or jeweler's mark. Inside that, a black velvet box. He looked at her with curious eyes.

"Seriously, you did keep our promise, right? Only something handmade?" He held the box up to his ear, giving it a gentle shake.

"Absolutely." She nodded firmly.

He lifted the lid and peeked inside, totally surprised by what he found. A sterling silver heart rested on a blanket of black velvet. It was no bigger than a quarter, but the design was exquisite and unlike anything he'd ever seen. The outer edges were lightly hammered, with a second heart carved neatly in the middle. A heart inside a heart.

"Jennifer, this is amazing." He carefully picked it up, examining it on all sides.

"Do you like it?" She gave him half a smile. "I designed it myself."

"You did this?"

"I drew up the design, and my jeweler in New York brought it to life."

"The man that did your Australia pendant?"

"The same."

"It's gorgeous. Really. I love the design."

"Well, I get to carry a tiny Hart around everyday. I thought you should have one too."

"A tiny Hart?"

"Yep."

"To carry in my pocket?"

"Uh-huh."

He shook his head again in loving disbelief. "You're something else, you know that?"

"It's been rumored. You know how this town loves to talk."

"Your turn." He handed her his gift.

Smiling, she didn't waste anytime tearing through the wrapping. Jonathan was the master of surprise and he'd given her no indication of what his special handmade gift might be. She had to admit that his ability to keep a secret had grown exponentially. Beneath the paper and ribbon, she found a plain white rectangular box. Carefully removing the lid, she peeled back several layers of paper and found a scroll, wrapped in a red ribbon.

"This looks interesting." She pulled the scroll from the box. "May I?" She pointed to the ribbon.

"Absolutely." He nodded with tender anticipation.

With one tug, the ribbon fell away and Jennifer unrolled the paper. Again she smiled, as her eyes traveled across the sheet. Handwritten music notes dotted the page, and curiosity dotted her mind.

"Sheet music." She turned the paper toward him, feeling confused.

"For the piano." He returned her smile with a nod.

"But we don't play the piano."

"Speak for yourself." He winked.

Taking the sheet music in one hand and her hand in the other, he led her over to their baby grand. He'd insisted they buy the piano—never mind that neither of them played. Jennifer could read a dozen languages, but not a note of music. Jonathan was great with a horn, but never tackled any other instruments. Max could bang out Heart and Soul, but that was all. It was the first purchase they'd made for their new home after much debate and Jennifer's eventual concession. She could appreciate the beauty of it, but hated that it sat quietly in the room, with little more than dust touching it on a regular basis.

Together they sat, side by side, on the sleek black bench. Jonathan smoothed the paper out with his hands before clipping it neatly on the music stand. He placed his hands lightly on the keys, and looked up at her with a smile.

"You're kidding, right?" Jennifer shook her head, ready to call his bluff. But Jonathan's fingers went to work, filling the silence around them with the jazzy side of Christmas. Images of sugarplums were instantly replaced with Charlie Brown and Snoopy dancing in her head. She watched in amazement as her husband played one of Vince Guaraldi's most recognizable tunes of the season. His arrangement was soft and sensual, and she couldn't take her eyes off him. Or his hands. They moved across the black and white keys with a haunting gentleness. _Some say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but Jonathan's hands are the gateway to his_. Looking up she could see the concentration on his face, knowing he'd accept nothing less than perfection in his performance.

She turned her focus back to his hands, realizing at that moment that she and the piano were one and the same. Both existed quietly, only producing the sweetest of melodies when touched by him. As the final notes played out, his eyes met hers.

"Merry Christmas, Darling." The husky tone of his voice warmed her and the emotion she found in his eyes brought tears to her own. She shook her head again, in awe of his love and creativity.

"Jonathan Hart?"

"Our fiscal year ends in October, remember?"

"So all those late night, end-of-year meetings?"

"Were spent practicing my scales."

"But how did you know? I mean, that's my favorite holiday song."

"I'm in tight with the elves." He slipped his arms around her, resting his forehead against hers.

"You're something else, you know that?" The lights of the tree sparkled in her autumn eyes.

"It's been rumored."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _The early morning mist scattered shadows among the trees. The sky above his head appeared gloomy and foreboding. The ground below his feet was dry and brittle; the frost crunching nosily with each step he made. He pulled his coat around him and continued to search. The air was silent, but his heart pounded inside him. Gripped with fear, he willed himself to move on. He had to find her. As he fought his way through the dense wood, he could see her silhouette just ahead. She appeared rigid and distant; unapproachable. Please be okay…please be okay…_

 _"Jennifer!" He called out, but she made no response._

 _His footsteps were heavy, but he found the strength to increase his pace. Please don't run away…just wait for me…I'm coming…_

 _"Jennifer! Answer me!" He called to her again. The trees in front of him began to thin, and he squinted through the fog to make out her image more clearly. Inside, he felt nothing but emptiness. His heart continued to beat quickly, as panic settled over him. Clouds rolled above his head, and an unexpected darkness stirred. She stood with her back to him. Frozen in time, her drab gray dress fell in stiff layers around her feet. In the distance, he heard it. The ominous sound of death bells from the belfry of an abandoned church. I'm too late…I'm too late. Reaching out to her, he placed a shaky hand upon her shoulder, but quickly withdrew…feeling icy stone beneath his hand._

 _"No! Please!" Falling to his knees, he ran his hands along the hem of her dress searching for some sign of life. The steely gray granite chilled his hand once more. Crawling along the frozen ground, he brought his eyes up to meet her face and his worst nightmare materialized before him. The woman he loved above all else stood motionless; a cold statue of his wife, holding their infant son. His cheeks burned with tears. He searched her face, but found nothing. No expression. No emotion. Autumn was gone, and only winter would live on in her eyes. She was nothing more than a piece of stone, casting a long dark shadow over his body. Her delicate features, perfectly chiseled. Her timeless beauty, forever preserved. The child in her arms, a serene but lifeless cherub. He cried out in pain, desperate for one more day with her. One more day—just the three of them. Just one more day…just one more day. The bells continued to ring a haunting melody, growing louder and louder until his head throbbed unmercifully._

"Jonathan…wake up…" She gently nudged his shoulder before reaching across him to silence the alarm clock. "Darling…wake up." She whispered again.

Though he'd made little sound, she could tell by his shallow, rapid breathing that this dream was anything but peaceful. He wrestled between reality and sleep, mumbling a few unintelligible words before finally opening his eyes. He lay still for a few moments, processing the disturbing scene that had just played out in his subconscious mind.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He took a deep breath and mustered a smile for her; filled with relief at the sight of her loving autumn eyes.

"What happened?"

Jonathan hesitated, suddenly feeling trapped. He'd always pressed Jennifer for the details of her dreams. But now, he didn't care to return the favor. "Can we talk about it later?"

"It was something about me, wasn't it? Something bad?"

"Actually," He paused. "it was a Christmas dream."

She gave him a look. "It didn't look like visions of sugarplums were dancing in your head."

"It was more the Charles Dickens' version."

"The Ghost of Christmas past?" She asked.

"Worse." He exhaled heavily. "Jacob Marley himself."

XXXXXXXXXX

Intercontinental Airport was exactly as he'd expected—completely devoid of order and holiday cheer. Dozens of weary travelers en route to their Christmas Eve destinations, wearing frustration instead of smiles. Jonathan surveyed the madness, finding himself more and more thankful that he didn't have to rely on public air travel as a rule. But in actuality, the hustle and bustle was providing him some much needed additional time. And as he and Jennifer waited patiently for Stephen, he wondered how the secret crew of elves he'd assembled was getting along back at their home. His plan was simple: keep his wife away as long as possible and make sure she stayed clear of the nursery. He and his father-in-law had worked out a little scheme and his confidence level was high. Max would run interference when necessary, and hopefully, with the arrival of guests in the early evening, Jennifer would be too busy to venture upstairs. Leaning against a pole, he folded his arms across his chest and smiled—much in the same way he had many months before. He'd stood impatiently waiting to see her again and look into those eyes. Their color had been a mystery to him; a mix of autumnal hues that sparkled with fire. His smile grew wider as he imagined seeing her again, rolling toward him as she laughed in jovial fashion with the flight attendant.

"Pink polo." He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Pink what?" She asked, looking at him with confused eyes.

"Pink polo, remember?"

"Jonathan, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Back in the spring, I leaned against a pole just like this one here and waited." He gave her a look.

"Did you?" She couldn't hide her smile. "And just what were you waiting for?"

"It wasn't a _what_. It was a _who_."

"Some Alpha Bitch I take it?"

"Are you kidding me? No, I was waiting for a _very_ exciting and _very_ beautiful woman to roll off a plane from DC."

"You were?" She feigned surprise.

"And I wasn't very patient either. Must've looked at my watch a million times."

"A big shot like you?" She shook her head in disbelief. "You weren't nervous, were you?"

"Nervous? Hell yeah I was nervous. This woman was unlike any I'd ever come across."

Jennifer paused, lost inside his mischievous blue eyes.

"So did this _mystery woman_ show up?"

"Oh yeah. She showed up. She came right down a ramp like that one." He pointed across the gate. "And she was a knock out. Right away I noticed that she was wearing a pale pink polo. And I thought to myself, _Not many redheads can pull off pink._ But this woman could. She looked fantastic. Just a plain pink polo." It was Jonathan's turn to pause, as he recalled one of his most vivid and special memories. "In fact, this woman looked fantastic in everything…and nothing at all." He winked.

"So what happened?"

"We slowly approached one another. We stared into each other's eyes for a moment—and there was this indescribable electricity that passed between us. We didn't even have to speak, it was that deep of a connection." He leaned in close, almost brushing his wife's lips with his own.

"That was some encounter." Jennifer bit her lip.

"Yeah, but then I heard them call your flight number and I had to leave." He shook his head. "I wonder what ever happened to her?"

"Hey!" She gave him a slap on the arm.

Stephen slowly made his way toward the waiting arms of his daughter. Jennifer's smile quickly took an unexpected turn upside down when she noticed the cane in her father's hand and the limp that made it necessary.

"Oh Pa!" She hugged him tightly. "What happened?"

"It was nothing more than a silly accident, my dear." He returned her hug.

"Are you alright?" Jonathan asked as the two men shook hands.

"I'm fine. Just not as nimble as I used to be."

"You're sure? Do you need to see a doctor?" She asked.

"On Christmas Eve? Heavens no. I'll be fine. Besides…" He leaned in toward them and lowered his voice significantly. "I've been self-medicating." He reached inside the inner pocket of his jacket and flashed a small silver flask in their direction with a wink.

Jonathan checked his watch before putting the SUV in reverse. With the crowd at Baggage Claim and the line for the Courtesy Shuttle, it had taken a full hour to make it back to the parking lot. With holiday traffic, it would be at least another sixty minutes before they arrived back home. Breathing a sigh of relief, he felt certain his surprise would be in order. Stephen's performance was convincing, and Max should be ready for their return. He decided to abort Plan B, as everything seemed to be right on schedule. _Time for Act II._

"So Stephen, what exactly happened? Did you fall?" Jonathan asked.

"I slipped in the barn. I wasn't paying attention and missed the step from Russell's office. Fell right on my knee, and twisted my ankle a bit. But I'll manage."

"You did get it checked out with Dr. Mason, I hope?" Jennifer asked with a firm tone.

"Oh Darling, I'm alright. Nothing's broken. There's nothing for Dr. Mason to do."

"Well, I'd just feel better if you had."

"I assure you that I'll be fine. Plenty of pain medicine, remember?" He patted his coat pocket.

"And plenty more should that run out." Jonathan smiled at his father-in-law in the rear view mirror.

"Now Pa, we have guests coming over later. And I insist you be on your best behavior." She turned around to catch her father's eye.

"Define _best_." He teased.

"A perfect gentleman."

"Darling, have you ever known me to be anything but?"

"Darling," She teased back with a touch of a British accent. "have you ever known me not to insist?"

Jonathan listened to their comedic banter, wearing a larger than usual smile. Stephen had his daughter's number and she had his as well. They were completely at ease with one another—no sign of traditional holiday stress that existed between many adults and their grown children. He admired their mutual respect and felt blessed to be a part of their family. Driving on, unaffected by the heavy traffic, his mind wandered a bit as he imagined life in the Edwards's home during the holidays. Jennifer had shared a few stories of by-gone Christmases but had never offered much in the years that followed her mother's death. Glancing in the rear view mirror he watched Stephen, trying his best to be discreet. _How does he do it?_ Jonathan wondered. _How does he go on day after day, year after year, by himself? It's gotta be hell on him. Especially during this time of the year. To lose your wife. Your young and vibrant wife when you're living in the fairy tale moment? And then to have to boldly go where no man wants to go: raising a happy child through your solitary sorrow._ He stole a quick look at Jennifer from the corner of his eye. _God, I hope I never have to live through anything like that. I can't imagine living without her. I'd be lost. So lost that I don't think I could ever be found. And I wouldn't want to be._

The cell phone in his pocket rang, jarring his mind back to the present.

"It's me, Mr. H." Max whispered.

"Oh, hey Max." He smiled in Jennifer's direction.

"The elves are done and it looks fantastic. They've just put on the finishing touches and should be outta here in about fifteen minutes. Are we on schedule?"

"No problems at all. Stephen's plane was right on time, and we're en route now."

"Did she fall for the bum leg routine?"

"Yes he's really looking forward to seeing you and Freeway." Again he caught Stephen's eye in the mirror and nodded.

"Okay. See you guys in a bit."

"That'll be great, Max. We'll be there soon." Jonathan closed the phone with a flip of his wrist, tucking it back inside his pocket.

"Is everything alright?" Jennifer asked.

"Fine. He just wanted to check our ETA. Wants to make sure the martinis are cold."

"Well, it looks like martinis will be the only thing cold around here." Stephen stared out the window. "You Californians have a lot to learn about Christmas in terms of the weather."

"Pa, don't start."

"Next year, I insist that you bring my grandson to Maryland for a proper Christmas. Snow, sleigh bells, hot cocoa. The works."

"He'll be eight months old. I don't think he'll care much for snow or hot cocoa."

"It's never too early to establish tradition, my dear. Christmas is snowmen and frosty windows and roaring fires in the fireplace."

"As opposed to palm trees, sunglasses, and the AC on full blast?" Jonathan added.

"Precisely."

"Well, we do make some lovely snow angels down here…" Jonathan pointed out the window to a large billboard advertisement for a tanning salon featuring two gorgeous women in red string bikinis and Santa hats.

Stephen glanced up at the billboard and silence filled the car. "Like I was saying, you just can't beat Christmas in Los Angeles." He gave his daughter a wink.

XXXXXXXXXX

"We're here!" Jonathan hollered. He carried Stephen's bags inside, leaving them beside the stairway. Jennifer followed, giving a sharp whistle. Within seconds, their faithful four-legged friend appeared.

"Freeway! My goodness! You have certainly grown." Stephen patted the dog's head as he playfully jumped up on his leg.

"Freeway, get down." Jennifer shooed him away. "He didn't hurt your leg, did he?"

"Of course not. I'm fine I tell you. Just have to watch my step and avoid those." He pointed to the stairs.

"We'll get you set up in the guest house later." Jonathan nodded, noticing the disappointed look on his wife's face.

"I hate that you'll be staying out there by yourself. But maybe your leg will be feeling better in a couple of days and you can stay up in the guest room. I have a little project up there that I want to show you before you leave."

"Let's see how I'm feeling tomorrow, Darling." Stephen smiled at his daughter.

"Alright." She answered.

"Stephen! Welcome!" Max entered with Barbara following close behind.

"Max! Barbara! So good to see you." The two men exchanged handshakes, and Stephen hugged Barbara warmly.

"Merry Christmas, Stephen." Barbara smiled.

"Merry Christmas to you, Madam." Stephen nodded.

"What's with the cane?" Max asked.

"Just a silly little accident. But nothing I'm sure Barbara and her bank account won't cure."

"Mr. Edwards, I never took the Hippocratic Oath. Therefore, when I'm done with you, you'll need more than a cane to get you back to Maryland."

"Jonathan, your guest is making threats." Stephen looked at his son-in-law.

"Then I'd start being on my _best behavior_ right now." Jonathan grinned.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Stephen, I think you'll find everything you need behind the bar." The timer sounded and Jonathan motioned across the living room to the bar on the wall opposite the fireplace before heading into the kitchen. Max had offered to whip up a pitcher of martinis himself, but Jonathan turned him down, knowing how Stephen relished playing bartender. He checked his watch again. The Martins would be stopping by any minute. Everything was on course. Stephen had arrived without incident, they'd had time to rest and prepare for an informal get-together with Archer and Diane, and the door to the nursery had remained closed since their arrival from the airport. Jonathan smiled, happily taking Jennifer's hand and leading her into the kitchen. Alone, he pulled his wife's body to his and held her close. They stood together for a second or two, without words.

"I love you." He whispered.

"I love you too."

"Are you okay?" He pulled away and searched her eyes.

"Yes. Why?"

"I just want to make sure this is not stressing you two out." He placed his hand lovingly on her belly.

"Spending Christmas Eve with my most favorite people in the world? How could that be stressful?"

"I'm just checking on you, that's all. Making sure."

"Well, I'm fine." She smiled, resting her hand on top of his. "We're fine. I promise."

"If you start to feel tired, just say the word. We'll call it a night."

"I'm alright. Now stop worrying." She pulled away and walked toward the oven, slipping an oven mitt over her right hand. After silencing the timer, she waved at him playfully before reaching for the stuffed mushroom caps. "Besides, if things get too out of hand, just hand me a barbeque fork and I'm good to go."

"Feel free to take out all your hidden holiday aggressions on me later." The husky tone of his voice sent a tingle through her. It always did. _He's definitely on the naughty list._ She bit her lip once more. _I hope he stays there._

"Is that an official invitation?"

"There's a Jacuzzi tub upstairs with your name on it."

"Pregnant women and Jacuzzis? I thought that was a no-no."

"No jets—just bubbles. Not too hot. Not too cold." He reassured her.

"Will there be candles?" Jennifer smiled, transferring the fresh hors d'oeuvres to a serving platter.

"Definitely."

"Soft music?"

"Absolutely."

"A back rub perhaps?"

"Now don't start talking crazy."

"And what do I have to do in return?"

"Nothing. Just let me love you."

He slipped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her once more. His playful, sexy tone disappeared, and she felt overcome with emotion at the tenderness of his words. _Just let me love you_. He could turn five words into a symphony for her soul. Five little words that if spoken by anyone else would be completely meaningless. She turned around to face him, sliding her arms up around his neck. Their eyes locked and they exchanged silent words of longing.

The doorbell rang, but they did not break their hold. They stood still, lost in the moment. The night before had been a time of restful reconnection. Their first official Christmas memories had been written on the pages of their lives. They'd fallen asleep in each others arm as the light of the tree and the fire gently covered them in cozy comfort. And Jonathan wanted nothing more than to whisk his wife upstairs and hide from the rest of the world for a second time. Again the doorbell chimed, announcing their visitors, and Jonathan finally pulled grudgingly away.

"Hold that thought." He whispered.

"For how long?"

"For as long as it takes me to get rid of all these people."

"Jonathan!"

"I'm kidding. But maybe Archer and Diane would like their cocktails to go?"

"Would you get the door?" She urged.

"One drink, one mushroom cap, one Christmas carol and then everyone's outta here." He motioned definitively with his hand, though she knew he was only kidding.

"What happened to sharing the Christmas spirit?"

"I have something very spirited to share. But only with you." He paused, flashing a wicked smile as he picked up a silver serving platter.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jennifer, everything looks beautiful." Diane marveled at the room.

"Well, it was really Jonathan's doing. He's the number one elf around here."

"How does he find the time? He must be extremely busy."

"You'd be surprised how much that man likes to play hooky. And I'm afraid that when Baby Boy Hart arrives, he might never go back to the office."

"You know, we've known Jonathan for a long time. Archer was somewhat of a mentor to him when he first ventured into energy sector."

"I know Jonathan thinks very highly of him. Of both of you."

"We're just so happy for the two of you."

"Thank you. We feel extremely blessed."

"And you should. I don't have to tell you that he's quite the catch. She paused a moment, taking a sip of her brandy. "We've watched Jonathan for several years, hoping and praying that the right woman would come along. No matter who he was seeing, he just never had the sparkle that he does now. And that sparkle is you." Diane smiled sincerely at Jennifer.

"Diane! You're embarrassing me." Jennifer smiled shyly.

"It's the truth. I've never seen a man more in love than Jonathan is with you."

"Yeah. I guess he's _okay_." Jennifer teased.

"Well, if you ever grow tired of him, just send him my way. There aren't many men that would make me walk away from Archer but I think Jonathan could." Diane teased back.

"He's pretty special, isn't he?" Jennifer glanced across the room at her husband. He stood at the bar, holding court. What originally started out as an innocent cocktail hour turned into dinner for seven. As the night wore on, their home overflowed with the best of the season: laughter, stories, and more laughter. And now, watching his interactions with their friends and family brought many words to her, as her writer's brain mentally described the man she'd pledged her life to: jovial, engaging, sincere, witty, honest, brilliant, loyal. He was Everyman. And unlike any man. Black tie. Blue jeans. Caviar at eight. A hot dog in the park. A comedy. A mystery. Obvious. Subtle. _How in the world did I get so lucky?_

Jonathan could feel her eyes on him, and quickly glanced her way. They held each other's gaze for several seconds. With a judicious nod, they silently agreed it was time to wrap it up.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, my pregnant wife is up well past her bedtime, so I'm making it official. Last call." He announced from behind the bar, holding up a bottle of Remy Martin.

"None for me thanks." Archer responded.

"I'm done." Max added.

"Make it three." Stephen slid his glass across bar.

"You have been the perfect host, Jonathan. But I think we should be going." Diane smiled his way.

"How 'bout one song to wrap up a perfect evening?" Jennifer gave him an encouraging nod and pointed toward the piano.

"I didn't know you played the piano." Barbara looked quizzically at Jonathan.

"He doesn't." Max responded.

"He does now." Jennifer smiled proudly.

"Just one song, then we really must go." Archer slipped off the barstool, giving a slight stretch before downing the last of his cognac.

"You're in luck because one song is all he knows." Jennifer touched Archer's shoulder reassuringly.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Goodnight! Drive safely!" Jonathan stood at the door; his arm draped around his wife's shoulder.

"Merry Christmas!" Jennifer added.

They watched as Archer and Diane closed the doors of their silver Cadillac and exited the driveway. Both continued to wave until the red tail lights were gone from sight. Turning to each other, they stole another quiet moment, sharing a sweet kiss.

"You taste like peppermint." Jonathan smiled.

"That's because I'm sugar and spice and everything nice."

"Well, go easy on the sugar. Heavy on the spice."

"That was some performance you gave, Maestro."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet." He rubbed his nose against hers.

"Stop that!" Stephen hollered from the living room. "You two have been under the mistletoe enough tonight."

"I say we trade mistletoe for sheets." Jonathan closed the door.

"What time is it?" Max asked.

"It's almost midnight." Barbara answered. "And I really should be going too."

"You're more than welcome to stay if you like." Jennifer offered.

"I better sleep in my own bed tonight. That way Santa knows just where to find me."

"I'll walk you out to your car." Max stood.

"Thank you all for a wonderful evening. It's been one of the most enjoyable Christmas Eve's I can remember."

"Please drive carefully." Jonathan added.

"Oh wait! We haven't opened our gifts yet." Jennifer glanced at the tree.

"We can open them in the morning, Jennifer. Barbara can come back over."

"Barbara? What do you think?" Jennifer looked back.

"I don't want to intrude on your family time."

"You're family to us. We'd love to have you." Jonathan smiled.

"Well then, I guess I will see you all in the morning." She took Max's arm and they walked to the front door.

"Goodnight!" Jonathan hollered.

"Bye Barbara. Thanks for all your help tonight." Jennifer waved. Barbara gave one last smile before she and Max disappeared behind the door.

"Well, Mrs. Hart, I must say that your first Christmas as a wife and mother-to-be was a complete success. Everyone had a great time. And the Martins are wonderful people." Stephen smiled proudly at his daughter.

"Thank you, Pa. It was a fun night."

"But all good things must come to an end and this is where I take my leave." He pulled himself up off the sofa with his help of his cane.

"I'll walk you out to the guest house." Jennifer offered her father her arm for extra support.

"Stephen, is there anything I can get you before you head out?" Jonathan asked.

"No, Son, I think I'm fine."

"Well call us if you need anything. I can be out there in two seconds." Jonathan lightly kissed his wife's cheek then touched his father-in-law's shoulder warmly.

"Thank you." He nodded quietly.

Jennifer exchanged smiles with her husband. Then together she and Stephen slowly made their way out to the guest house, retelling the best stories of the evening. They both agreed that despite the absence of snow and sleigh bells, it was turning out to be one of the better holidays they'd shared in recent memory. Christmas had always been a difficult time for both of them with Suzanne's birthday being the day after. And though Jennifer had always found a ridiculous number of gifts on Christmas morning, there was always a sadness that accompanied the season, hanging like a tarnished ornament on her childhood Christmas tree. Throughout her teen years, Stephen had made a point of taking his daughter on fabulous winter vacations, and thus began her education in the world of travel. Stephen had arranged all sorts of amazing adventures for them—many of which contributed to her love of fine art and foreign languages. Morocco. Florence. Tokyo. Madrid. They'd happily traveled the globe together, or so she thought at the time. Looking back, she knew it was her father's way of running away—away from the home he'd built with her mother and memories made too painful by twinkling holiday lights.

Inside the guest house, she made a once-through sweep to assure that everything was comfortably in order.

"Darling, it's lovely. I'm sure I'll sleep like a baby."

"You heard Jonathan. Buzz us if you need anything."

"I'll probably need a Bloody Mary in the morning." He regrettably brought his hand up to his forehead, rubbing it firmly.

"I'll bring you one first thing." She reassured him.

"Listen Darling, before you go…" He ambled over to his suitcase, pulling out a small wrapped package. Turning to his daughter, he gave a smile. "I know we said that we'd wait to open gifts in the morning but I'd like you to have this now." He handed the small present to her.

"What have you done?" She took the box from his hand, shaking her head with a loving smile.

"It's just a little something I thought you might like to have."

"Is this gonna make me cry?"

"That depends. Are you as sentimental a sap as your father?"

"Most of the time." She answered.

"Then I guess you'll need this." He pulled a clean, monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket.

She removed the gold wrapping and bow; her expression full of curiosity. Inside she found a stack of brightly colored construction paper cards, held together with a wrinkled red ribbon. Though her eyes had not seen them for years, she recognized them instantly.

"Do you remember those?" Stephen asked.

"Oh Pa…" Carefully, she pulled the stack of cards from the box, tugging gently at the red ribbon. She backed up several feet, blindly finding the sofa and sitting down, never taking her eyes off the forgotten treasure she held in her hands. "I had no idea you had these."

"Neither did I. Found them when Walter and I pulled out the holiday decorations. They were inside a box that I thought contained ornaments. They're exactly as I found them—ribbon and all. I didn't know your mother saved them, but I'm not surprised. If you made it, she saved it."

"I can't believe it." Jennifer smiled as she studied the drawings and read the words she'd written to Santa throughout her happiest childhood years.

"I think you'll find a common theme throughout every piece of correspondence with St. Nick. You asked for a new horse every year." Stephen sat down beside his daughter. "And look at your drawings!" He continued. "My goodness! Just look at that Christmas tree. That's fantastic. Such detail. And you were only four when you drew that. What an artist you were. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your father. You had real talent."

"I wrote the "C" backwards." She pointed to the first letter in Christmas on the front of the card.

"This was one of your mother's most cherished holiday traditions. She loved sitting down with you on Christmas Eve, watching you make special cards for Santa. Look at this one…" He reached for a yellow card, filled with bright blue scribbles on the front. Smiling, he flipped it over and noted the date on the back. "This was the first card you ever made. You were two. Note your use of bold color in this abstract design. What a genius!" He winked at his daughter.

Jennifer laughed. "Yeah, I was a regular Kandinsky."

"You certainly were. At least, you were to us." He paused a moment, resting a hand on Jennifer's thigh. "And you'll think your little man is the same way. Every scribble, every drawing, every handmade gift will touch you in a way that you can't imagine."

She looked up into her father's eyes, noting a shine of fresh tears. She smiled and blinked, causing several of her own to fall.

"You amaze me. You constantly amaze me." She looked back at the collection of cards in her hand. "But I think you should keep these." Holding the stack out to him, she smiled again.

"No, your mother would want you to have them." He gave her leg a squeeze. "I want you to have them. And I also want you to have this…" He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a tiny box.

"Now c'mon!" Jennifer put a hand up in protest.

"Just open it." He slipped the box into her hand.

"But what about tomorrow? I thought we were waiting." She looked at him, but his eyes insisted she obey. Shaking her head again, she quietly flipped open the top of the black velvet box. Inside, she found a ring that belonged to her mother. One that she always loved to look at as a child, but didn't remember seeing since her mother's passing.

"I bought that ring for your mother right before she had you. Her hands swelled so during the end of her pregnancy, and she couldn't wear her wedding ring. So, I found this one, and she wore it instead. It was larger than her real one. She fell in love with it. And after you were born and her hands returned to their normal size, she continued to wear it."

"I remember. She wore it on her middle finger…"

"Because it was too big for her ring finger, yes that's right." Stephen finished his daughter's sentence.

"I thought Mom was buried with this ring."

"Well, I kept every dying wish your mother asked of me. Except one. I wanted to keep it in the hopes that I'd give it to you one day. One day when you were an expectant mother."

"It's beautiful." She slipped it over her middle finger, seeing her mother's hand in her own. "A perfect fit." Holding up her hand to him, she smiled again. He reached out, taking hold of it and squeezing it tenderly.

"Your hands. They're so much like your mother's. At dinner, I couldn't stop watching them. The way you hold your fork and the animated way you gesture when you tell a story…" His voice trailed off, signaling the return of his tears.

Jennifer moved closer to him, embracing her father tightly. Her tears began to fall again, and they held each other in silence. Years of hiding their deepest holiday sorrows in foreign hotels and distant airports melted away, and together they released their Ghosts of Christmas Past, making way for the merriest of future traditions.

"Will you do something for me?" Jennifer pulled away, whispering through her tears.

"Anything, my darling girl." He reached and brushed a tear off her cheek.

"Will you tell me the story of the first time you saw Mom?"

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Hey Champ!_

 _I only have a few minutes, so I may have to cut this short. It's Christmas Eve, and for the first time today, our house is quiet. Our guests have gone. Uncle Max has retired to his room. And your mother is out in the guest house tucking Grandpa in for the night. We've had a beautiful evening. Lots of good food, good friends, and good stories. Just the way the holidays are supposed to be._

 _Your grandpa arrived today from Maryland. He limped off the plane with a cane in his hand. Your mother hates seeing him in pain and showing his age, but in the morning she'll be relieved to know that it was all an act. I had an entire team of design professionals here this afternoon, finishing up your room as a surprise Christmas gift for your mom. All week, she's been so excited to show your grandfather the progress on the nursery. Well, we had to come up with a way to keep her out of there until my big surprise reveal. So Grandpa faked an injury to avoid the stairs. And she's been so busy with Christmas Eve dinner and our other guests that the thought of the nursery just never entered her mind. I was afraid that she might want to show it off tonight to our friend, Diane but fortunately Diane was able to steer the conversation away from all things baby. I think the secret to my secret success is surrounding myself with people who know how to keep secrets. I'm getting much better at it. I just can't wait to see her face. I left a light on up there, and will ask her to turn it out on our way up to bed. I only had time to peek at it myself. It's like walking into another place in time. I can't even imagine falling asleep in a room like yours. I hope that you will have the sweetest of baby dreams in there. You are our Little Prince, so the room has to be as unique and special as you are. I think my favorite thing about your room is the rocking chair. Your mother saw this rocking chair in a boutique last month. It's a one of a kind piece. Hand carved. Incredible craftsmanship. Well, she wanted it. But it had been sold. Your mother was upset, but I assured her that she'd find something else she'd like even better. What she didn't know was that I'd already bought the rocker for her. For the record, women love surprises. I don't care what they say. They all love to be surprised. Just file that little bit of advice away for later, okay? I have several more surprises on tap for tomorrow morning as well. Your mom will find a Toyland town all around the Christmas tree. Uncle Max is helping me set up tonight after your mom falls asleep. I can't wait for you to see all the fun things I found for you. I realize that it will be a few years before you'll be able to play with most of them but it's never too early to start a collection of antique toy trains and autographed baseball memorabilia. Those things are investments. And the best investments with the highest yields are the ones you make in your children. Uncle Max thinks I have a weakness for toy stores. I say that I'm being a savvy Dad by diversifying your childhood portfolio._

 _I'm starting to get worried about your mother. She's been out with Grandpa for a while now. I know that this is a difficult time of the year for them. Your Grandmother would have been celebrating her birthday the day after tomorrow. Your mom tries to put on a strong face and act like it doesn't bother her. But it does. I know this because I do the very same thing and your mom knows it too. When I was a little boy, I used to pray that Santa would bring my parents back to me. I had this story worked out in my head that maybe they'd gone on a trip far away and just couldn't get back to me. And that wherever they were in the big wide world, they were missing me as much as I was missing them. They say it's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. I'm not sure that's entirely true. I never knew my parents—aside from a faded photograph of a young man who looks an awful lot like me. And I hurt everyday for years. I still hurt, but I've learned to separate the pain from the blessings I'm living now. I think its more regret now than anything. Regret that my mother and father, whoever and wherever they are, will never get a chance to know you and your mother. The two of you are my greatest treasure._

 _I wish I could have just one day with them. To meet them. Talk to them. Find out who they are and where they came from. One day where we could just all be together. But I know that's a wish that will never come true. So for now, I will hold on to the hope of meeting them and being with them again. One day. On the other side._

 _Loss—of any kind—is never easy. But I am blessed to share this life with your mother, and we'll hold each other up when the memories of our losses weigh us down._

 _Well, I just heard your Mom come in, so I better close. It's time for my Christmas Eve surprise._

 _Merry Christmas, Buddy! You're by the far the best gift!_

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jennifer, are you okay?" Jonathan noticed traces of tears in his wife's eyes when she returned to the living room. He nonchalantly crossed to the writing desk behind the piano, stashing his letter in the bottom right hand drawer.

"Yeah."

"Your father's all tucked in?"

"Yes." She took a deep breath then exhaled in relief.

"So is Max." He checked his watch. "It's really late. Let's head on up." He slid his arm around her waist and together they walked side by side, clicking lights off as they went. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped, turning to her.

"He gave you the ring, didn't he?"

She nodded, holding her hand up.

"And the cards?"

"Yes." She whispered.

"He loves you very much." Jonathan wiped a single tear away.

"I know he does. And I love him too." She felt the words catch in her throat. Jonathan held her as she cried and they stood together in darkness.

"She's right here with us." He whispered, as tears found their way to his own eyes and thoughts of a man in a black and white photo entered his mind. "They're here with us. Every person we've ever loved. They never leave. Remember what The Little Prince said _? If you love a flower that lives on a star, then it's sweet to look up at the night sky._ " He gently kissed her temple, keeping a tight hold on her for several moments.

"Jonathan, I love you so much." Pulling away, she looked up at him with a smile. "Thank you."

"No charge." He smiled back. "Now, I believe you had an appointment with a masseur, did you not?"

"Oh Darling, it's too late. Let's just go to bed."

"That's the best offer I've had today." His eyes shined with a mischievous expression.

"I mean sleep. Let's just go to _sleep_."

"Alright." He answered, sighing in a defeated tone as they continued up the stairs. A light from the direction of the nursery spilled into the hall at the top of the stairs.

"Did you leave the light on in the nursery?" He asked.

"No, I haven't even been in there today."

"Me either. Maybe Max was up here."

"I'll get it." She offered, turning at the top of the stairs while he continued on toward their bedroom. Still humming Jonathan's favorite holiday tune, she wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and approached the slightly cracked door. Pushing it open, she stood motionless at the sight before her. The drop cloths were gone. No sign of paint brushes or cans. She was frozen at the threshold of a fairy tale—one fit for a Little Prince. Every inch of the room was picture perfect. The furnishings. The fabrics. The artwork. In the light of the wall sconces above the crib, it looked like an ad for the most upscale baby boutiques in LA or New York. Timeless. Classic. But one thing in particular caught her eye and she laughed out loud. The large rocking chair in the corner of the room. It was the same one-of-a-kind chair she'd seen several weeks before when she and Jonathan had been out shopping. _Oh Jonathan! You are the master of surprise!_ She smiled at the large Steiff bear sitting up proudly in its seat, patiently waiting for the trusting arms and bedtime secrets of a little boy.

"Santa's pretty amazing. I didn't even know he was up here." He whispered from behind her; the husky tone of his voice again tickling her ear.

She quickly turned around to face him and Jonathan could see genuine surprise lighting up her autumn eyes. This was the moment he imagined. This was the gift he dreamed of giving her from the instant she pulled that second white stick from the pocket of his robe in a London hotel. This was the reason he existed—to fill her life with magical moments. Looking into her face, he was again reminded that he could only define his truest self when in her presence. _It's unquestionably more blessed to give than receive,_ he thought, slipping his arms around her and kissing her tenderly—further confirming that, because of the woman in his arms, he'd never be the same. And that was just the way he liked it.

"Jonathan Charles Hart," She shook her head. "I'm not even sure I want to ask."

"What makes you think I had anything to do with this?" He asked, giving her his best look of innocence.

"It's absolutely magical." She turned her body back around, while Jonathan kept his arms snugly around her waist. They stood together, his head on her shoulder, and quietly envisioned the days and nights that waited for them.

"Would you like the fifty cent tour?"

"Of course." She beamed.

"Now, over here…this is where our Little Prince will have his royal diaper changed." Jonathan pointed to the changing table. "And here…this is where he'll rest his princely head." He smiled, running his hand along the crib railing. "Inside here…" He walked to the closet. "A place to hang his stately wardrobe."

"And what about that?" She pointed to the rocking chair.

"Well that's where his beautiful mother, the Queen of Harts, will rock His Royal Highness." He took Jennifer's hand and led her over to the rocker, tossing Mr. Bear on the floor. "But I think we should break it in." He sat down, pulling her down on his lap. With her head resting on his shoulder, he gently rocked her back and forth, humming their special song softly then singing the words to her in a whisper. He closed his eyes, continuing to quietly rock her, as the final moments of Christmas Eve disappeared. He could feel her body relaxing after several more minutes, and he knew it was time to put her to bed. Yawning, he knew he wasn't far behind.

"Darling," He whispered, tapping her shoulder lightly. "let's go to bed. I know you're exhausted."

She stood with a yawn and walked noiselessly to the door. They stood together, taking one last look. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." She smiled, taking in all the details of their son's room.

"It certainly is." He focused his eyes firmly on her.

Together they walked hand in hand to their bedroom, both ready for a long winter's nap. Making love to his wife would have to wait another night. All he could think about was curling up beside her and falling asleep to the sound of her breathing. Draping his arm across her belly. Finding her feet with his. Feeling her hair against his cheek. Sleeping beside his wife was at the top of his list of life's greatest pleasures. Actually, his list had only one word, really. _Jennifer_. And in a few months, he'd add another name to that list.

"It's perfect. I don't know how else to describe it. You've surprised me before, but this time you outdid yourself. When did you do it? It wasn't like that yesterday." She dropped her toothbrush in the cup beside the sink.

"I was fortunate to find some really energetic and helpful elves."

"It's stunning. It's like a dream."

"That's exactly what I was hoping for." He smiled before clicking the light off. Once in bed, he spooned in beside her, yawning again. All the running around and nonstop entertaining had finally caught up with him, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes.

"Hey now, what about my backrub?"

"Now?" He sighed heavily, eyeing the clock with one eye.

"You promised, remember?"

"How many minutes?"

"Seven. You still owe me from the last time."

"Look, I'll make a deal with you."

"Another one of your famous deals?"

"Let's go to sleep and I'll double your pleasure tomorrow."

"Fourteen minutes?"

"If you turn off that lamp, I'll make it an even twenty."

"Done. Let's shake."

"We don't need to shake. You know I'm good for it."

"I've heard that before." She pulled the sheets back, and slipped out of bed.

"Where are you going?"

"Better make one last pit stop for the night."

"Can you turn the lamp off?" His words were heavy.

She smiled warmly at him before clicking the lamp switch. As he listened to her quiet footsteps, he could hear her softly humming Danny's Song as she made her way into their bathroom. Though he'd celebrated many holidays in his life, none could compare to the one that was just winding down. And this one, like every night he'd spent with her, would end with a smile on his face. He yawned a third time, feeling his body slipping away from him. He was just on the verge of sailing peacefully into the dark night when he heard her call out his name. Immediately, he was wide awake and rushing into the bathroom—gripped with fright at the urgency and panic in her voice.

"Jennifer, what's wrong?" He fumbled in the darkness for the doorknob. Suddenly, light burned his eyes and he saw his wife standing before him. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable. Something was terribly wrong.

"What is it?" He begged.

"I'm bleeding…"

 **TBC**


	18. Chapter 18

Jennifer hadn't spoken a word from the time they'd exited the iron gate. As her hands cradled her pregnant belly, she silently continued the prayer that began the moment she'd called out for Jonathan. _Please God…please let him be alright…_

He allowed her silence to guide them, not wanting to force conversation. From the corner of his eye, he could still see the fear on her face. Reaching over, Jonathan placed a loving hand atop his wife's as he tried to collect himself. The last few minutes had been a blur. A call to the number on Dr. Sumner's business card solicited nothing more than his answering service. Of course he's not answering. It's Christmas Eve. No real need to call an ambulance, since Jennifer wasn't experiencing pain. No sense in waking Max and Stephen—there was little they could do. After quickly scanning one of many pregnancy guides, he scrawled a note explaining their absence before quietly loading Jennifer into the SUV and heading straight for the ER. It wasn't a lot of blood, but how much is too much? He looked over at her with a reassuring smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" He asked for the third time.

"Jonathan, I feel fine. I was feeling some slight pelvic pressure early, but it wasn't painful."

"You're sure?"

"I told you, I'm not in pain." She paused, leaning her head against the window. "Scared to death, but not in pain." She added.

"We'll be there soon. Everything's going to be fine. I promise. I'm sure that the bleeding is nothing serious."

Several quiet moments passed before Jennifer spoke again. "You don't think we're going to have this baby tonight, do you?" Her voice was a soft whisper, but he could hear the alarm in each and every word she spoke.

"I think that whatever happens tonight, I'll be right here with you and we'll be fine. Okay?" He squeezed her hand once more, unable to lie and unable to hide the fear he felt inside.

She turned her gaze back to the window and Jonathan felt his heart sink. He had no idea what the hours ahead held for them. Would they be standing in the NICU, looking down at a tiny baby covered in tubes and wires, or would the ER doctors smile and send them happily on their way? The chapter in the pregnancy guide gave him little hope of the latter happening. Bleeding in the second or third trimester was never routine, and usually indicative of potentially dangerous complications. Is this preterm labor? Placenta previa? Placental abruption? Though he'd only scanned the book briefly, he'd committed every terrifying possibility to memory.

The roads to the hospital were deserted, causing his mind to wander into all sorts of dark and forbidden places. The gambler in him tried to weigh the odds, but the stakes were just too high to venture a guess. He knew one thing for sure: this was not the Christmas holiday he'd envisioned. Just hours before they'd gathered merrily at the piano, singing carols and telling stories with nothing but holiday happiness around them. And now he found himself pulled from the warmth of their bed, driving his wife to the hospital with the images of a bad dream creeping steadily back into his head. Jennifer and a baby, turned to stone in the icy surroundings of an old cemetery. _Please God, let them be alright. Just let them be okay_. An eerie silence returned and he eyed the knob on the dash. Too many times the radio had called to him, with Fate turning to a station that echoed only truth. _Not this time._ He continued to hold her hand, humming the soft melody of their favorite tune. Looking to her again, he could see her posture and expression remained unchanged.

The calm streets turned frantic as they approached the hospital. Pain and Suffering were still awake, taking no notice of the holiday at hand. The parking lot beside the ER was alive, with several emergency vehicles announcing their arrival with a somber carol of sirens and flashing lights. Jennifer sat up, taking a deep breath and wishing she was back at home, curled up peacefully beside him in their yummy bed.

"I love you." She spoke once more as they followed an ambulance up to the entrance. Her tone was quiet and she caught his eye with a glassy look.

"And I love you." He put on his best poker face, ready to tackle whatever truth they found waiting behind the doors of the ER.

Jonathan helped her settle into an abandoned wheelchair that sat just inside the entrance of the electric doors. He checked his watch for the third time. He pushed the chair a short distance and turned a corner to find the waiting area completely full—standing room only.

"I guess we should have made a reservation." He bent down and whispered in her ear.

"And we thought we were having a lively party tonight." Jennifer surveyed the crowd. Every chair was occupied; every face filled with a mix of urgency and exhaustion.

"Let's see what the wait is like around here. Maybe I can pull a few strings and get us a good table."

He turned the wheelchair toward the admitting station, finding a line of at least seven people in front of them. This is going to be a long night, he thought to himself, as he pushed the chair up to the end of the line.

"How're you doing? You okay?" He asked again.

"I'm okay." She looked up at him. Immediately, he could see the anxiety in her eyes.

"Maybe you could moan a little…for effect, I mean." He whispered with a smile. Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he was met with a familiar face, though he couldn't immediately place it.

"Mr. Hart?" The young man asked.

"I'm sorry?" Jonathan shook his head, struggling to identify the man behind him.

"Julian Dey. From ICU, remember?"

"Of course." Jonathan turned Jennifer around then offered his hand. "Please forgive me. We're a little out of sorts tonight."

"Is tonight the night?" He asked, smiling at Jennifer.

"I certainly hope not. We still have fifteen weeks to go." Jennifer tried her best to smile.

"Well, you don't have time to be waiting around here. Allow me…" Julian took hold of the wheelchair, pushing Jennifer past the long line toward the elevators.

"We wouldn't want you to get in trouble." Jonathan whispered as they waited for an elevator.

"I won't. And I'm not doing anything against protocol anyway. All LD emergencies bypass the ER and go straight up anyway. I'm just helping expedite the process a little."

The doors to the elevator opened and the three ventured inside. Together, they took the short trip up, exchanging holiday pleasantries and news of Max's progress. Julian confidently guided the chair up to the main nurses' station in the area of the hospital known as The Women's Center. Several attractive nurses sat behind the desk, and he flashed each of them a big smile, along with his ID badge.

"Listen, this is my sister and her husband. They just came from ER, but still need to be admitted. She's Level One. Twenty-five weeks. Who's on tonight?" He spoke with an assertive tone as he glanced at the large Dry Erase board on the wall behind them.

"Lerner's here." One nurse responded.

"What about Davis?" Julian asked.

"No. Davis is off. Navarre's here." Another nurse added.

"Great. Get Navarre. And make sure they get the best care, alright?" He turned back to Jonathan, placing a hand lovingly on Jennifer's shoulder. "Navarre is wonderful. You'll be fine, Sis. And I promise I'll check in on you later." He shook hands with Jonathan, giving them a wink before turning to make his exit.

A young nurse led them to an examination area, divided into several quadrants by large green curtains. The floor was silent, and Jonathan was thankful for being out of the noisy chaos of the ER. The nurse gave Jennifer a gown, along with a promise to return in a moment's time. After helping her undress, Jonathan pulled the light blue hospital gown up around her shoulders, tying a neat bow at her neck. Softly, he kissed the nape of neck and slipped his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. Like so many times before, they didn't say a word. They didn't need to. He could feel every emotion running through her body—and they mirrored the very same feelings that lay in a tangled mass inside him.

As promised, the nurse returned, carrying a Doppler stethoscope. Jennifer reached for Jonathan's arm and he helped her onto the examination table.

"When was the last time you felt fetal movement?" The nurse asked, shaking a bottle of clear ultrasound jelly.

"I'm not sure. About ten-thirty, I think."

"Have you experienced any other symptoms other than the bleeding?"

"No. Nothing." Jennifer answered.

"So no pain or cramping of any kind?" The nurse placed the Doppler transducer on Jennifer's belly, swirling it around in the clear gel.

"I feel fine. Normal." Jennifer looked up at Jonathan, and again he reached for her hand. Lacing his fingers tightly in hers, he gave her a reassuring nod. "Is that normal?" She asked with uncertainty.

"It's a good sign." The nurse replied, moving the transducer across Jennifer's pregnant form. In seconds, the unmistakable sound of their baby's heartbeat filled the air and together they breathed a huge sigh of relief. Jennifer could not contain her emotions as tears slid down her cheeks.

"Nice and strong. One hundred thirty three beats per minute."

"So he's okay in there?" Jonathan asked.

"A strong heartbeat definitely rules out any major distress. Yes, I think he's completely oblivious to all the worry that's going on out here." She smiled. "Dr. Navarre will want to do an ultrasound and pelvic exam to zero in on the sudden bleeding. She'll be in here in a couple of minutes. Just try to relax." Pulling the curtain, she left them alone.

The tears he saw in her eyes brought a wave of wetness to his own, and for the first time since seeing her fearful face in the bathroom, he allowed himself to release the emotions he'd kept silently in check. She squeezed his hand and offered a smile, as more of their tears fell. He traced the lines of her fingers for several moments before speaking. So many thoughts were running through his mind. As much as he wanted the doctors and nurses to hurry, standing next to her in blissful ignorance of what might be happening was strangely comforting. He remembered the night he proposed, looking down at her frightened face and wishing to God there was something he could do to make it all go away. And now, those same eyes stared up at him. Eyes that were not totally convinced the worst was over. It was the night Fear had her standing at the threshold with one hand on the doorknob—ready to run away from him and them. And what had he done? Turned a deaf ear to her, unwilling to listen. _Not this time._

"I know I said it earlier, but I need to say it again," He turned his blue eyes down, tenderly connecting with hers. "No matter what happens, or what we're told, we will handle it together, okay?"

"I know." She squeezed his hand tightly.

"No one's running away. Not me. Not you. Okay?"

"Okay." She whispered.

"I really do love you." He leaned over, resting his cheek against her head.

"And I really do love you."

Another minute passed before a young doctor poked her head around the curtain.

"Mrs. Hart?" She asked, checking her clipboard.

"That's me." Jennifer answered, trying to sound cheerful.

"I'm Dr. Navarre. I'm on call for Dr. Sumner." She pulled the curtain behind her before turning to exchange handshakes. "So you've experienced some bleeding tonight?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"On a scale of one to ten, with ten being Niagara Falls, how would you describe the amount of blood?"

"I'd say about a three."

"So like a light period then?"

"Yes."

"And this is the first and only time this has happened?"

"Yes." Jennifer nodded again.

"Nothing unusual then? Cramps? Pain? Any sort of discomfort?"

"I felt some pressure earlier but it wasn't painful. Just more baby gymnastics."

"We're going to take you around the corner for an ultrasound. The Doppler showed a strong heartbeat, so I don't think there's any real distress, but I will need to check you out thoroughly. My first thought is that your cervix may be playing games. That may be the cause of the bleeding at this point in your pregnancy." She gave Jennifer a smile and a comforting pat on the arm.

Jennifer's belly was once again covered in clear gel and Dr. Navarre watched the monitor intently as she moved the ultrasound transducer. Jonathan and Jennifer remained silent, waiting for confirmation.

"Your baby boy looks to be happy and healthy. The placenta seems to be in tact and in the right position, so we can rule out placenta previa and abruption."

Silently, Jonathan thanked God as he recalled the words from the pregnancy guide. Now to rule out preterm labor.

"I'm going to do a pelvic exam to see if your cervix is dilated. You will feel some pressure, just as you would in any vaginal exam, and you will probably experience a little more bleeding after I'm done." She wiped the jelly away before pulling on a pair of sterile gloves. Another nurse joined them, bringing with her a steel tray of instruments.

"Now I want you to lie still and take deep breaths. This will only take a minute." Dr. Navarre spoke with a soothing tone as she disappeared behind the sheet that covered Jennifer's lower half. Jonathan stood beside her, gently smoothing her hair back. She focused on the softness of his touch, willing her body to relax. _Please let this be over._

They both held their breath, waiting for the diagnosis from Dr. Navarre. After what seemed like an eternity, they heard her words, as again she spoke to them in a pleasant and hopeful tone.

"Just as I thought. Your cervix is opening. It's not much. A little more than a centimeter. That's what's caused your bleeding."

"Please tell me that I'm not going to have this baby tonight." Alarm returned to Jennifer's voice and Jonathan felt his heart beat double time.

"No, you're not going to have this baby tonight. But I'd like to talk with Dr. Sumner. I think he'll want to do an emergent cerclage to ensure you make it close to term."

"Emergent cerclage?" Jonathan asked.

"Cerclage is a safe procedure where the cervix is sewn shut until about the thirty-eighth week of pregnancy. After that, the stitches are removed without any complication, usually in your doctor's office. They can be removed sooner should your water break or should you start experiencing contractions. You've developed a condition known as cervical incompetence. Your cervix has opened spontaneously, which could possibly lead to preterm labor. While this is not common, it typically occurs between eighteen and twenty-three weeks gestation. But it can occur later, as in your case. You did the right thing by bringing her in right away." Dr. Navarre smiled at Jonathan.

"So I'm not going to deliver tonight?" Jennifer asked once more.

"Not on my watch." Dr. Navarre smiled again.

"When will you do the procedure? Now? Are there any risks to Jennifer?" Jonathan's mind raced with a ton of questions.

"I'm going to put a call in to Dr. Sumner and discuss everything with him. He'll probably want to go ahead with the cerclage as soon as possible. In the meantime, we'll get you set up in a room. Your job from this point on is to rest. I will go over all the in's and out's of the surgery with you after I've spoken with Dr. Sumner."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan paced nervously around the room, longing for some much needed relief. They were still waiting for word from Dr. Sumner, and his level of patience had worn thin. He consulted his timepiece yet again, comparing it with the clock on the wall. The big hand was approaching the twelve, and the little hand pointed down at the six. Max is probably up making coffee by now. He looked over at his wife. Jennifer lay still, flipping through the channels on the television. He'd given up his pleas for her to sleep—she was just as restless as he was. After several minutes of fruitless searching she abandoned the remote, finding nothing of interest to occupy her mind. She watched Jonathan for a moment, noting his posture. He walked with slow, deliberate steps, and she could almost see the cogs inside his mind working overtime. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Jonathan, you know you can't."

"Can't what?"

"You can't call Dr. Sumner, so just put that thought out of your mind."

"But I have his home number right here. I don't know why I didn't think of it before." He slipped his hand inside his back pocket for his wallet. "I just wasn't thinking."

"He gave you that number to use only if we needed him that night after that Gala. It doesn't give you carte blanche to call him up whenever you like. And he might not even be home. It's Christmas after all. He may be out of town."

"The nurse told us we'd hear something by five. Five has come and gone." He pointed to the clock on the wall. "Maybe Dr. Navarre got busy. Maybe she hasn't even called him yet."

"Dr. Navarre said she'd call, and we're not going behind her back. Maybe she hasn't heard back from Dr. Sumner yet."

"I'm tired of waiting."

"Well it's no picnic for me either, if that makes you feel better."

Jonathan could see the frustration on her face, and instantly he felt ashamed. Of course it's no picnic for her. She's doing all the work, while I do nothing but complain and feel sorry for myself.

"I'm sorry." He looked at her with guilty eyes.

"It's okay. Now come sit down." She motioned for him, patting a spot on the bed beside her.

"No. I want you to close your eyes and get some sleep. Dr. Navarre gave you one job to do and you have yet to do it." He spoke with a serious tone.

"Please come over here with me. Please?" She held her hand out to him, and he was helpless. With a grin, he crossed the room to her bed, snuggling in beside her, but keeping one foot on the floor.

"You know that trick works every time, don't you?"

"Why do you think I use it?"

"Listen, you have got to get some sleep. You've been up for over twenty hours."

"I can't sleep. I'm just too wired."

"How 'bout I tell you a story? Then will you close your eyes?"

"I'll try."

Jonathan tucked his arm under her head and pulled her tired body to his. Resting her head on his chest, she closed her eyes and smiled, eagerly anticipating a bedtime story delivered in classic Jonathan fashion.

He quietly moved his hand along the railing of the bed, in search of the button to extinguish the light. A second later, the light above their heads vanished and the room grew dark. He held her, thinking back to another time they lay together in a hospital bed. He could still see the exact moment when, holding her just as he did now, he knew he couldn't survive another day without her. So many questions he'd asked himself that night. _Was it too soon? Should they wait? Would love pay their light bill?_ He remembered with great clarity the arguments and what ifs that ran through his mind as he'd nursed a glass of Scotch on his sofa in quiet predawn hours alone inside his apartment. But it all came down to one thing. Nothing else mattered. It didn't matter then, and it didn't matter now. They loved each other. Period. End of story. Everything would be alright. Here she was, beside him, loving him in a way he'd never imagined. And here he was, once again realizing how lost he'd be without her.

"Jonathan?" She whispered.

"Hmm?"

"My story?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Now close your eyes." He kissed the top of her head, allowing her silky hair to brush against his cheek. It brought a smile to his face—the same one he'd worn while sitting on a bench sharing a warm and easy conversation with a complete stranger. Without warning, he recalled Stephen's words at dinner the night they'd returned from Napa. _Fate has his hand in everything at once._

"Once upon a time, there was this man…" He started and instantly his voice sent calm waves through her. "He was the kind of man that others envied. He lived in a world filled with friends, success, and wealth. He had everything. At least, he had what the outside world saw as everything. But on the inside—inside his world, he was a lonely man. He started and ended each day in much the same way. He woke up alone. He went to bed alone. And even on the nights when he found a warm body lying beside him, he was still, for all intents and purposes, by himself. He knew there had to be more than what existed around him. Something more than monetary success. Something beyond casual friendships. But where? He'd traveled all over the globe, only to return home with that same empty feeling." He lowered his tone with each sentence he spoke; his husky voice gently rocking her to sleep. She suddenly felt heavy in his arms, and he knew he was losing her. He kissed her head once more then continued the whispers of his story.

"Well, one day, this envied yet lonely man was living his life, trying his best to handle a crisis, when by chance he met a stranger. He looked into her eyes, and for a brief moment he had the most unusual feeling. A feeling he'd longed for all his life. A feeling that he'd finally come home after being lost for many years. He was completely swept away by her, in just the few moments he stood before her."

Her body completely relaxed against his and he knew she'd finally given herself over to sleep. He listened to her breathing; deep and rhythmic. He looked down at her hands, resting serenely around her belly. Carefully, he pulled his leg up on the bed and closed his eyes, eager to join her in peaceful dreams.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan opened his eyes, surprised to find Dr. Sumner standing over him.

"Good Morning. Merry Christmas." He whispered.

Jonathan eyed the clock on the wall, relieved to see that it was still early. Jennifer had turned over, and lay curled up in a ball with her back to him. As gently as he could, he slipped from the bed and followed Dr. Sumner into the hall.

"Thank you so much for coming." Jonathan shook his hand.

"Luckily I'm married to a very understanding woman. That, and I finished all my official Santa duties about two o'clock this morning."

"I'm so sorry to pull you away from your family on Christmas morning. Dr. Navarre said she would call you, but never mentioned that you would be coming in. I wasn't sure you were even in town." Jonathan ran a hand through his hair.

"Dr. Navarre is an excellent OB. One of the best I've ever seen. But I would rather take care of the cerclage procedure myself. I'm kinda stingy that way. My patient, my surgery."

"Well I know Jennifer will be thrilled to see you."

"Let's let her sleep a while. Her cervix was only slightly opened, and since she's resting I think we can hold off until this afternoon."

"So you're agree with Dr. Navarre that the cerclage is the way to go?"

"Absolutely. It's a relatively easy procedure that poses little risk to mother and fetus. I've done many of them over the years with very high success. Most cases make it to thirty eight weeks or longer without complication. A few even reach the forty mark. The fact that Jennifer is dilated less than three centimeters is a very good sign."

"How long will she have to stay in the hospital?"

"I think that you'll be able to take her home tomorrow morning."

"Really?"

"I'll put her on antibiotics for a week, just to guard against infection. That, along with something for pain, and she should be fine. But you do understand that she won't be able to travel for a while."

"So my plan of spending New Year's Eve on the beach in Hawaii is out?"

"You'll have to ring in the New Year from the comfort of your bed, I'm afraid."

"There are worse things."

"Some doctors recommend two to three days of bed rest following this type of surgery. But I like to err on the side of caution and go at least a full week. And there's still plenty of time to make good on your bet." Dr. Sumner winked.

"Well I can't thank you enough for being here. And I know Jennifer will feel the same way."

"Have your nurse page me as soon as Jennifer wakes up. I'll pop in, answer any questions, and then we'll tie up her loose ends, so to speak. I'm going to get her name on the surgery schedule now and talk with the anesthesiologist."

"Thanks again for being here." Jonathan offered his hand.

"Now get back in there. If she wakes up and finds you missing, then you'll have an entirely new problem on your hands." He winked again.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer opened her eyes and looked around the room with a groggy stare. After several seconds, her brain registered her location, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

"Jonathan?" She called out to him with a weak voice.

"I'm right here." He stood beside her, dropping the magazine he'd been reading on the chair behind him.

"Is it over?"

"It is and you did great." He smiled down at her.

"How's LP?" A worried look crossed her face for a split second.

"LP?"

"Little Prince."

"Little Prince is resting comfortably inside his cozy little hand-sewn sack."

"Is my father still here?"

"No. I sent him and Max home after Dr. Sumner gave us the good news."

"Is he gonna let me go home tonight?"

"Nope. Not tonight. In the morning. You're a little too punch drunk to be walking outta here tonight."

Jennifer sighed, looking up at him with hazy eyes. "Some Christmas, huh?"

"Hey now, don't start that."

"We didn't have brunch, or exchange gifts or anything."

"The gifts will be there tomorrow, and we can whip up brunch anytime."

"But Barbara was coming over and—"

"And Barbara sends her love as well. So stop worrying."

"Me and my incompetent cervix." She sighed heavily.

"Jennifer…" He spoke with a serious tone.

"It's true."

"Now listen, the important thing is that that gift," he pointed to her belly, "not be opened until Easter. Am I right?"

She paused, looking down at her mother's ring, giving it a twist around her middle finger. "You're right."

"And one more thing." He gently climbed up beside her.

"What's that?" She asked, trying to hold in a grin.

" _Don't go changin'…_ " He sang to her.

"Jonathan?" She rolled her eyes.

" _Your incompetent cervix…_ "

"More Billy Joel?" She asked with a grin.

" _Though it's so much better_

 _With a stitch…_

 _Ummm…_

 _I don't imagine_

 _You'll feel a difference_

 _Surgery came off_

 _Without a hitch…"_

"Is this the short version or the long one?" She asked with a sigh.

" _I would not leave you…_ "

"Okay, the long version." She shook her head.

" _In times of trouble_

 _Not with your cervix_

 _Opened wide…_

 _Ummm…"_

"Jonathan Hart…" She looked up at him, shaking her head, but wearing an enormous smile. Their eyes made that powerful connection and she was once again back in the place that she loved best—that place of safest love. The playfulness in his eyes turned serious, and he leaned forward. He kissed her, feeling the love that grew from a place deep inside him with more than longing on his lips. Once for the woman she'd been, once for the woman she'd become, and once for the woman he had yet to discover. Past. Present. Future. Three phases of his life that could only exist when defined by her. Pulling back, he held her autumn eyes with his own, sharing a sweet smile as he finished his silly love song to her.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _"What the bloody hell are you doing out of bed? Come away from there." He stood in the doorway with an exasperated look on his face._

 _"She is so beautiful." She looked down from the window of their second story bedroom at her daughter._

 _"That's because she looks just like her mother." He joined her, taking in the distant silhouette of his baby girl below._

 _"Well, she may look like her mother, but she is without question her father's daughter."_

 _He took her hand, feeling her silky soft skin against his. They stood together for several silent moments, watching their daughter ride gracefully atop the back of a bay mare._

 _"She's become quite the horsewoman." He added proudly._

 _"She has a great teacher." She smiled up at him._

 _He looked into her eyes, moved by the contentment he saw. Eyes full of happiness instead of pain. Staring into her hazel eyes, he forgot reality. He forgot the diagnosis. Forgot the doctors. And for a brief moment in time, he even forgot about death. They stood together, husband and wife, mother and father, savoring the image of their most cherished possession._

 _God, please let me remember these eyes. These happy, happy eyes. He brought her frail hand to his mouth, kissing it tenderly. And these hands, God…and her skin…please don't let me forget her skin. He held her hand against his cheek, closing his eyes and taking a mental photograph of the moment. A picture to hide away in the folds of his heart…his inner scrapbook of memories._

 _"My darling, you really must lie down now." He carefully led her back, helping her into their bed. Crossing the room, he removed his jacket and hat before pulling her favorite quilt from the back of the chair._

 _"Oh I don't think I need that." She shook her head._

 _"It's not for you, my dear." He winked._

 _Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he removed his tall, black riding boots. Then, taking his place beside her, he quietly covered himself with her quilt. He reached for her hand once more, drawing circles on her thumb with his own. Feeling her head upon his shoulder, he closed his eyes and his body relaxed. The room was quiet for several minutes and he continued to rub her hand, concentrating all his senses on the moment._

 _I promise you, Suzanne, I won't forget. I'll never forget…_

The clock on the mantle chimed, bringing Stephen's mind back from the painful memory he'd revisited. He glanced at his watch then looked up, exchanging a nervous look with Max.

"I wonder what's taking them so long." Max asked.

"She said they'd be making a stop to pick up her prescriptions. Maybe they were held up at the pharmacy."

"You're probably right. You want something? A top-off maybe?" He pointed to Stephen's half-empty glass.

"I'm fine. But thank you." Stephen gave Max a polite nod, continuing to study the paper in front of him.

"C'mon Freeway. You haven't been out in a while." Max snapped his fingers and the dog shuffled toward the front door.

Alone in the living room, Stephen reread the lines he'd just written. Two games of Solitaire, one Sudoku Challenge, five hands of gin, and sixteen rounds of Pocket Poker had done little to help pass the time. Max had been more than accommodating in an effort to keep them both entertained but the house was just too quiet. So, he traded games and puzzles for letter writing, as he tried his best to convey several thoughts on paper to his unborn grandson.

 _So where was I? Without my other letters here in front of me, I can't remember where I left off. With age comes wisdom and unfortunately a good deal of forgetfulness too. Well, it doesn't matter. There's been enough excitement around here to fill up a new page. I'm sitting here in the living room of your house. The lights on the Christmas tree are still burning, though Christmas came and went. Your Uncle Max is outside walking your dog. Your mom and dad are on their way home from the hospital. And thankfully, you are still in utero. Uncle Max and I woke to find a very distressing letter on Christmas morning. Not a letter from Santa, mind you, but from your father. Seems your mother had some complications during the night and the two of them spent the early hours of Christmas in the hospital. Fortunately, your mother's condition has been improved with an unexpected surgery and you are doing fine. They are due home any minute and I can't wait to see them. I spent yesterday afternoon at the hospital with your father, Max and Barbara. The surgical procedure was a complete success. I haven't seen her since she woke up, but I spoke with her on the phone on two different occasions and she sounded wonderful. She is so relieved that you are okay. We all are. As much as we look forward to your birthday, we are certainly pleased that you decided to stay put for the moment._

 _Speaking of birthdays, today is a very special day on the calendar. Many years ago, on this very day, a very special person was born. A beautiful baby girl. Her mother, Claire, named her Suzanne—after the beautiful lily. Suzanne Claire Garnier. Her father, Paul, cried tears of joy for three days straight. He was so happy! After years of praying and pleading with God for a child, he and Claire were finally blessed with a baby. Paul and Claire had tried for so long to conceive a child, and had all but given up. Approaching their forties, they accepted their fate, happy to have their health and each other. But their lives changed, and their prayers were answered. And the day after Christmas, in a small country hospital in the south of France, just outside of Avignon, their miracle came to life. A miracle that grew into a young woman of untold beauty and strength. A woman who could stop traffic just by standing in the window of a flower shop on a rainy afternoon. And for reasons still unbeknownst to me, this woman would fall in love with an older man, becoming the light of his life. She was much too young for him. And too beautiful. What on earth did she see in him? Even after this many years, he still doesn't know. He'd walked into a flower shop in Paris, and with one look, he saw there was only one flower he wanted. And thus began the start of their love story. She could silence him with just one look and ignite him with just one touch. She would give him many gifts in their years together—the greatest of these being a daughter. Another beautiful baby girl. My baby. Your mother. Jennifer Claire Edwards._

 _Yes, today is the day of your dear grandmother's birth. My precious flower that now grows in the sunlit fields of the heavens. Many years have passed since I looked into her eyes. A quick count tells me that she'd be blowing out fifty-nine candles on her cake this year. I still celebrate her special day. Quietly. In my own way. A private party. Over the years, however, the focus of my celebrations have been less about remembering her birth and more about congratulating myself that I survived another year without her. Yes, I know that's very selfish of me. But after seventy plus years, you find very little worth celebrating. I know I am blessed to have so many good things in my life. My family. My health. My work. But I would gladly subtract the last decade from my life if I thought I could have more time. More time with her. More time to drink in her laugh. More time to walk together through the gardens. Time. It surrounds us every day yet we long for more. There's never enough of it. Sometimes at night, when the house is dark and quiet, and if I center my thoughts on her, I can still feel the softness of your grandmother's hand in mine. It's a feeling I can't describe. If I rub my thumb and forefinger together lightly, I can almost recall the very texture of her skin. It's a silly thing to do, I know, but I can't stop. I'm afraid to. Over the last several years, it's become harder and harder to remember. Harder to feel her skin. I know that one day, it will be gone forever. One day, I'll rub my fingers together and even though I'll rack my brain with incredible intensity, I'll only feel the brittle skin of an old man. That day is coming. It's coming much faster than I care to admit. And when that day finally arrives—the day I can no longer see her eyes, hear her laugh, or feel her skin—that's the day I'll raise my glass, toast my much-blessed life, and ask God to drive me home._

Stephen stopped reading, taking a minute to wipe his eyes. He studied the lights on the tree in quiet reflection before putting his pen back to paper.

 _I guess all this geriatric rambling has finally brought me around to making a point that may be of some value to you one day. My wish for you would be that you savor every moment. Every glorious moment. Every heartbreaking moment too. To live is to feel, as your grandmother would say. The good and the bad. Every moment in time is a color, and together all the moments of your life will create a painting that is beautifully unique to you. So be bold, young man! Make big, bold, blue scribbles on the canvas of your life. My canvas is almost full now. All my paints are beginning to fade. But your canvas is clean and white. Nothing but blank space, just waiting for something exciting. There's no such thing as the wrong color. Use them all. Laugh. Cry. Love. Live. Do all of these things, and I know that you will create nothing short of a masterpiece._

XXXXXXXXXX

"How much longer do I have to do this?" Jennifer called to him.

"Let's see," He turned off the water and dropped his toothbrush in the cup by his sink. "only six days, two hours and twenty-six minutes, I think."

"That's it?"

"Yep." He hollered back.

It was early, but Jonathan insisted on lights out before ten. Doctor's orders. No arguments. They'd spent the entire afternoon in their room just playing cards and reading. Jonathan had busied himself with three weeks worth of New York Times crosswords, while Jennifer worked on her novel in between cat-naps. Max and Stephen served them trays of chicken soup before saying their good-nights and setting up for the weekly poker game. Together, they finished off their quiet evening lying in each other arms, watching The Way We Were on cable. Jennifer tried to convince Jonathan to join Barbara and the guys downstairs, but he'd refused. Big surprise.

Though she'd spent less than forty-eight hours away from home, it felt like she'd been gone for days. Happy to be back in their bed, she completed her nightly ritual, settling herself in among a sea of pillows. The warmth of the blankets, coupled with her last dose of pain medicine, caused her eyes to suddenly feel heavy. She would have no trouble falling asleep tonight, as everything she needed would be joining her shortly. A faint smile crossed her lips, as she thought back to the silly song he'd sung to her at the hospital. _Oh that man. How does he do it?_ Her soul was like a hidden tree house, an undisclosed hide-away that others knew little about. Only Jonathan was allowed inside. Together, hiding from the rest of the world, they shared their laughter and secrets. H _e knows exactly how to climb up inside my soul._

Yawning, she closed her eyes for a moment, remembering Jonathan's bedtime story. The story of a man. The lonely man. She knew the story well. She'd lived it herself. Even in the time when she'd committed herself to another, she was still alone. Still searching. She felt LP move inside her, and her smile grew. _The search is finally over._

Jonathan pulled the sheets back and slipped in beside her. She smiled at him through closed eyes, and in the light of his bedside lamp, he studied her face. _It won't be long now_ , he thought, as he watched her expression grow more and more relaxed.

"Are you comfortable?" He asked in a whisper.

"I certainly am." She whispered back.

"I love you, Jennifer." He looked at his soon-to-be sleeping wife.

"And I love you." She opened her eyes.

He reached behind him, giving the lamp a click. The room turned dark and he exhaled with great relief. They were home. She was fine. The baby was alright. Then, this not-so-lonely man closed his eyes, offering up a prayer of thanks for the safe-keeping of all that he held precious. He was just beginning to drift when she whispered to him again.

"Best year?" Her words were soft.

"Best what?"

"Best year?" She repeated, quoting a line from the movie they'd just watched.

"This one." He responded.

"Best month?"

"September." He rubbed his foot against hers.

"Best line?"

He paused a moment and smiled. "Whatever one I used to get you here."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Mr. Hart, this just came for you." Deanne entered Jonathan's office.

"It'll have to wait. I'm late for Jennifer's OB appointment." He grabbed his briefcase and jacket.

"The courier said it was urgent." She handed him a large manila mailing envelope.

"When has a courier not said that?" He smiled.

"Let me think. Never?" She smiled back.

"Bingo." He answered as he walked toward the elevators.

Jonathan hummed, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited for the elevator. He couldn't contain the feeling he had inside—like he'd just pulled off the greatest con in the history of the business world. He'd delegated the remaining meetings to Archer and a few other top hands and was slipping out early. And now, to go play hooky for the rest of the day. The doors to the elevator opened and he stepped inside, still humming. He waved across to Deanne one last time before the disappearing behind the doors.

Outside, it was a perfect day, though still a little chilly. Jonathan decided to ride top-down despite the cool temperature. Being inside all morning in back to back meetings, he knew the fresh, crisp air on his face would help clear his head. He wanted no signs of work on his mind when he finally met up with his wife. Sitting in traffic, an idea popped into his head, and he quickly reached for his cell phone. He dialed the number as he waited at a red light.

"Hello, Curtis? Oh I'm sorry, Anton. This is Jonathan Hart. Look, I know this is short notice…" He stopped, listening to the gentleman on the other end. "Really? My lucky day, indeed. But do me a favor, would you? A nice, quiet, private table in the back? Could you arrange that for me? Great! We'll see you then."

He smiled again and reached for the radio. Instantly, he identified the distinctive voice of Lou Reed around him, singing his poetic angst. It was a song that Jonathan had not heard in years, and one that'd captured much notoriety as a metaphor for drug addiction back in the seventies. Confidently swerving his way through traffic, he listened closely, dissecting the lyrics of his Reed's song and thinking about his own addiction—a woman with eyes the color of his favorite season. He thought about her skin and her hair; his own milk and honey. His foot grew heavy on the accelerator as his mind swerved in and out of thoughts of her. _No man wants to admit that he's lost control._ He smiled again, seeing her there. Waiting for an elevator in a wheelchair. Holding him on a dance floor in Napa. Lying across the bed on their wedding night. He was half-way through the intersection before he realized what he'd done. In the rearview mirror, he watched the motorcycle cop motioned angrily for him to pull over; lights and sirens blaring. _Damn!_

He pulled the convertible over to the curb, turned on his hazard lights and reached in the console for his insurance card. The officer warily approached the car, and Jonathan put on his best smile.

"Sir, are you aware that you hit that intersection going sixty in a twenty-five?" He didn't give Jonathan a chance to respond, as he kept on with his authoritative rant. "And did you not see the fourteen signs which clearly point out that this is a construction zone? And I guess you didn't see the handful of workers, several of whom were waving bright orange flags in your direction in a futile effort to get you to stop?"

Jonathan hesitated, unsure if the officer was finished reading him the riot act.

"Would you mind stepping out of the car, Sir?"

"Listen, Officer, can I just get my ticket and go peacefully? I'm in a bit of a hurry. My wife's having a baby."

"If I had a dollar for every time I heard that one." The officer pulled a black ticket tender from his back pocket.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _My Darling LP,_

 _Happy New Year, my love! I can hardly believe that another year has come to a close. It truly was the best year of my life. The blessings have been almost too numerous to count. Meeting and marrying your father, getting back on my feet (literally), watching Max find his way back to himself and us, and then finding out that we were expecting you. I'm speechless, but filled with feelings of joy at the good fortune we've experienced this last year. I know that the year ahead will bring forth the most the special and delightful moments for us all as we gather around you, living everyday through the wonder and merriment in your eyes._

 _I can't imagine what it will be like, seeing the world reveal itself to you. And I can't imagine my heart any fuller than it is at this moment. But with your father, I've learned just how resilient a heart can be. He's shown me the way, like a candle in the dark. There are days when I think to myself, "There's nothing he could do that would make me love him more." And you know what? I'm wrong—every time. My heart has found the ability to expand itself, creating more space. Allowing so much more love inside it. What will my heart do the first time it sees you? How loudly will it beat, as I hold you in my arms for the very first time? How will my heart feel when it hears your cries? When it savors your laughter? When it delights in your triumphs and breaks in your disappointments? You're not even here yet, and already my heart breaks for you knowing that I won't be able to protect you from so many things. Knowing that one day, I'll have to do what every mother before me feared. I'll have to turn you over to the world. A world filled with treasure and mystery, but also with pain, loss and hurt. And it will be that moment when I'll wish I could hide you away—slip you back inside the cozy little nest where you are right now. Sew you up tight inside me with the strongest threads, woven from love, so that nothing will harm you. But that wouldn't be living, now would it? A complete life is equal shares of the good and the not-so good. Your grandmother was a big believer in that. At least, that's what she said. Looking back, I think it was just her way of protecting me and Grandpa. She knew she was leaving us, so she created this idea that that we'd be better for the experience. That somehow, her death would make us stronger. She didn't say it in so many words, and even if she had, it would have been lost on me. I was just a baby then. How could losing someone better you? How could an eleven year old girl become stronger by giving back that which made her strong to begin with? I know one thing for sure: I'll never know the answer to that one._

 _I'm sitting here in the waiting room at Dr. Sumner's office. Daddy is meeting me for our monthly appointment. He had several meetings today, but was able to schedule them so that he can meet me here and we can grab a quick bite afterward. I'm thinking maybe a hot dog in the park. The weather is gorgeous! Actually, he should have been here by now but Dr. Sumner is running behind, so he's lucked out with a little extra time. We've reached the twenty-eight week mark and are now closing out the second trimester. Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday I was pulling a tiny white stick from the pocket of your father's robe, showing him the evidence of you! This has been the most blessed and life-changing experience for both of us._

 _I have to say you are quite the athlete. I know your daddy loves baseball, but I think you might be practicing field goal kicks in there. All the weight you've put on these last couple of weeks has really made you strong. You weigh over two pounds now—more than Roy Campanella's catcher's mitt, as Daddy pointed out to me the other night. Uncle Max told me that you're probably doing a lot of blinking now too, since your eye development is complete and you can now distinguish light from dark. Oh, that's something I haven't told you yet. Ever since I came home from the hospital, your Uncle Max has taken it upon himself to learn everything there is to know about pregnancy. He's traded the sports page for pregnancy guides, and pours over them for hours. He can quote medical information just like he was giving a play by play of a Lakers game. He loves to greet me every morning with a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and my "fun fact for the day." This morning, he informed me that you can now recognize my voice and that I should take advantage of the big rocking chair in your room by reading some bedtime stories to you. I feel certain that should there be some freakish change in the weather and we get unexpectedly snowed in at the moment of your birth, your Uncle Max will bring you into this world without so much as batting an eye. Daddy said he and Grandpa were really scared when they woke up Christmas morning and found the note he'd left them explaining our need to go to the hospital. But thankfully everything worked out and now in addition to "Uncle" he can add mid-wife to his title. Mid-wife? Mid-Uncle? Mid-Max?_

 _Because of our little scare, we didn't celebrate Christmas morning the traditional way. Christmas Eve was wonderful with your father, Grandpa, Max, Barbara and our friends Archer and Diane Martin. Lots of carols and laughter. It was a perfect evening. Grandpa surprised me with some cards I'd made for Santa back when I was just a girl. I hadn't thought about those cards in years, and had no idea that they'd been saved. He also gave me a very special ring that belonged to your grandmother. I'm wearing it at this very moment. Oh, that grandfather of yours. He's quite a character. He helped Daddy out with a Christmas surprise for me by faking an injury. He hobbled off the plane from DC with a cane in his hand. His goal was to keep himself and me out of your room by avoiding the stairs. See, that was my big surprise. Your father and a host of design professionals finished up your room on Christmas Eve while we were en route to the airport to collect Grandpa. And so, between your "ailing" grandfather, and preparations for our evening celebration, I stayed out of your room and Daddy was able to pull off his most special surprise to date. Your room. It's the most magical place in our home. It's a wonderland made just for a Little Prince. Every night before I go to bed, I steal a few moments by myself in there. Daddy bought me this big rocking chair I'd wanted. I like to sit in that chair and imagine you in my arms. I think that rocking a sleeping baby must be one of life's greatest and most simple of pleasures._

 _I came home from the hospital the day after Christmas and your father chained me to our bed for a week. He hardly left my side, even though Dr. Sumner assured him that I'd be fine. Honestly, I don't know how your father maintains his stronghold on the business world. He's hardly set foot in his office lately. Guess that's why he spent this week in New York. Making up for lost time. But far be it from me to question the genius that is Jonathan Hart. We decided to wait and exchange our real Christmas gifts on New Year's Eve, giving us something to look forward to. He brought a tiny little tree up to our bedroom on New Year's Eve, along with the packages we were exchanging. Max joined us, and so did your grandfather (we convinced him to stay on with us, though it didn't take much). The three of them donned fake Santa beards and hats, and serenaded me and Freeway with a rousing round of carols. This was long after they'd sampled several glasses of champagne, mind you. It was a unique holiday, to say the least. But very sweet, and one that I will never forget. Barbara and the guys showed up around nine for poker, and then your father and I had our own private gift exchange. We agreed to open our packages at the exact same time, and when we did, we laughed and laughed. Your father bought me the tiniest red bikini known to man. I think he'd been inspired by a billboard he'd seen while driving me and Grandpa back from the airport. In contrast, I present him with a bright pink ski cap and a pair of aviator sunglasses (inspired by an old photograph that your father used to keep by his bedside). We'd both planned a surprise get-away—mine to the slopes and his to the beach. Of course I wasn't going to ski. But your father is an excellent skier. And I'm quite a talent when it comes to soaking up atmosphere in the lodge. Just a cup of hot chocolate (don't forget the dash of almond) and a large picture window to watch the snowfall. That's all I'd really need. I finally realized why Max was so insistent I share my "big plans" with him, because he knew what your father was planning. Well, it didn't matter much, since traveling is now on the back burner. Hopefully, we will get a green light from Dr. Sumner today and will be cleared to make one last trip before your big day. We haven't nailed down where we going yet. But if I know your dad, he's probably cooking up some scheme or bet to decide our destination. Maybe Do, Dump or Date, the Travel Edition._

 _I've resisted doing it for a long time—call it superstition or whatever—but I finally circled the date of your arrival in my day planner. It says "Forty Weeks" in big print. Now that we're beginning the homestretch, I feel I can finally relax a bit. Even after the surprise of having the cerclage, I feel very peaceful about the remainder of our journey. Daddy and Max have a bet going that you will be the ultimate Easter egg, and that you'll be born on Easter Sunday. What do you think? Will the Easter Bunny bring you then? Whatever you decide, just think about how warm and comfy it is in there. Don't rush it._

 _I just looked up, and guess who I see leaning against the wall near the entrance of Dr. Sumner's office? With his arms folded smartly across his chest and a very satisfied expression on his face? Yep, it's him. Is he staring or merely looking? I can never tell._

 _I love you, Angel._

 _Mommy_

Jennifer sat shaking her head, finishing her last lines and unable to hide her smile. She stored her journal in her bag then motioned for Jonathan to join her. He sidled over to her; the smug look still in tact. Taking the open seat beside her, he flashed his million dollar smile, but remained silent. Jennifer couldn't suppress her giggle.

"Well aren't you the cat that ate the canary?"

"I'd like to do more than that." He whispered.

"Jonathan Hart! Is it possible for you to have one clean thought about me?" She whispered, quickly glancing around in embarrassment.

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"You're late. Did your meeting run over?"

"Nope. I got stopped."

"Just now?"

"Just now." He nodded.

"For speeding?"

"Nope. For driving under the influence." He winked.

"What?"

"It's not what you think. I'll explain later." He reached up, tucking a strand of silky red hair behind her ear. "So whatcha been working on? The novel?" He glanced toward her bag.

"Actually no. It's an article." She fibbed.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"About twenty minutes. But they told me that Dr. Sumner is running behind today."

Jonathan consulted his watch. "I made a reservation at Café Anise. How does that sound?"

"I thought you had another meeting. That's not exactly fast food."

"I got out of it." He leaned forward, almost touching her nose with his.

"Are we celebrating something?" She asked with a suspicious eye.

"We're always celebrating."

"Dr. Sumner will just be a minute or two." His nurse handed Jennifer a light pink gown.

"Thank you." Jennifer nodded as the nurse closed the door.

Jonathan stood, taking Jennifer by the shoulders. "I guess you're in need of my services again." He lightly ran his hand down the front of Jennifer's blouse; his fingers touching each button. His eyes held her and once again, she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"I think I can get it." She reached for the top button.

"But I insist." He pulled her hands down, finishing the task. The lacy edge of her bra peeked out at him, and he quietly traced around it with his finger.

"Jonathan…please…don't." She looked up at him with serious eyes, grabbing his hand in an effort to stop his advance.

"Do you have any idea how incredibly beautiful you are?" His voice crept inside her ear, touching a place reserved just for him.

"Dr. Sumner will be in here in just a minute."

"All I need is a minute." He dropped his head, leaning into her and finding her special spot.

"Jonathan, please…" She begged, knowing that with his lips upon her neck, she was powerless against him.

"It's been so long. I need a fix." He nuzzled her ear, thinking back to Reed's lyrics. "I want you."

"You can have me—all of me—but not here." She whispered back.

He pulled away with reluctance. "I'll call Anton back and get our order to go."

After a moment, he helped her into position on the examination table and they continued to wait. He looked down at her, running a hand through her hair.

"Jennifer…" He began, but was cut off by a knock at the door. Dr. Sumner entered, sharing smiles and handshakes.

"The Hart Trio. How is everyone today?"

"We're fine." Jennifer smiled.

"But we'll be better when you tell us we can get back to business as usual." Jonathan added.

"Let me check my surgical handiwork first, then we'll discuss your travel plans."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Now I'm the pace car. You follow me, Andretti. Deal?" They strolled through the parking garage and she pulled her keys from her bag.

"Deal." He opened her door with a smile.

"I mean it, Jonathan. Slow and easy, okay?" She gave him a look.

"Is there any other way?" He smiled, snapping her seat belt into place for her. He held her eyes for a moment before touching her lips with a soft kiss. "And I promise to be a good driver too."

He left her alone then made his way to the convertible, parked just one level above her. Still humming the melody of Lou Reed's song, he quickly got behind the wheel and back out, eager to catch up to the SUV below. The top was back up, but he rolled the window down, wanting to feel more of the same refreshing breeze he'd enjoyed on the way. He eyed the recent speeding ticket sticking out from the ashtray and couldn't help smiling.

Jennifer sat in reverse, waiting for him. As soon as she saw the grill of his car coming around the corner, she cautiously backed out. She turned the rear view mirror in slightly and caught his eyes. With a wink, she continued toward the exit of the garage and out to the street.

The lunchtime traffic had grown heavy around the Medical Center. Crews of construction workers seemed to line every street. Jonathan signaled to her; trying to point out several short-cuts. But every turn seemed to create more delays. Before he knew it, they were stacked up at the very intersection where he'd been ticketed. No going forward. No backing up. With the very same cop directing traffic on foot. _They're gonna give our table away, I just know it._ He reached for his cell phone to call Anton. _Damn! It's busy_. He sighed heavily, as he watched a parade of heavy equipment—pavers and concrete mixers—move at a snail's pace through the intersection. He motioned to Jennifer, getting nothing but a confused head shake and a shrugging of her shoulders.

Finally, after a full two minutes of idling, the cop whistled, giving them the go-ahead. Inching forward, he tried the number at Café Annie once more. Still busy. _Damn!_ He watched the SUV proceed through the intersection and was just about to cross the white line when the cop blew his whistle again, halting Jonathan.

"You gotta be kidding me?" He watched as the back of his wife's vehicle disappeared in the distance. Reaching for his cell a third time, he called Jennifer.

"Yes?" She answered.

"Daisy?"

"Yes."

"It's Abner."

"Let me guess. Held up again?"

"Yep."

"I'll let Anton know."

He closed his phone, placing it on the passenger seat. It was then he noticed the large, manila envelope sticking out from underneath his briefcase. Checking the congested scene before him and knowing he'd have to wait, he reached for it. _Let's see what's so urgent._

He slipped his hand inside, completely stunned by what he pulled out. Carefully, he surveyed each item, feeling his heart beat faster. _What the hell?_ His eyes traveled across each article, trying to decipher its meaning. He was at a complete loss, and he felt his blood pressure spike dramatically. A rap on the window snapped him back to reality; the cop motioning at him. Jonathan rolled his window down.

"What is your problem, Sir?"

"I'm sorry?" Jonathan heard the officer, but his mind was somewhere else.

"You're either wide open or standing still. Move it please." He backed away from the car, blowing his whistle once more.

Jonathan waited in line for the valet at the restaurant. He checked his watch and found he was just a couple of minutes behind Jennifer. He caught site of his own eyes in the rear view mirror and instantly he knew. _It's no good. I won't be able to fake my way through lunch. She knows me too well._ He nervously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, unsure if his decision was the right one. He looked at the clock on the dash. _If I'm not out of this car in exactly one minute, then the envelope stays._ Without even thinking, he began counting to sixty, but was cut short at forty-seven when the valet jogged up to the driver's side door. Grabbing his jacket and the envelope, Jonathan exited the convertible and slowly walked into the restaurant.

"You made it!" Anton extended his hand. "I have the best, most private table in the back. And you have the best looking redhead waiting for you."

"Thanks, Anton. I owe you one." Jonathan followed him toward the table where his wife sat waiting. Looking into her happy eyes, he mustered a smile, while a familiar yet despised sentiment entered his mind. _God I hate the women in this town._

"Sorry, Darling." He took the seat beside her, pulling his chair closer to hers.

"Oh it's alright. It certainly wasn't your fault."

"Listen, I'm really not that hungry after all. Would you mind a rain check?"

"What? After all the side street shenanigans to get us here on time?"

"Something's come up, and I think I'd rather just go, if you don't mind."

"Is it the meeting? Do you need to go back?" She searched his face, finding a disturbed look behind his eyes.

"No, it's not the meeting. It's this." He quietly sat the envelope on the table between them. "There's something I need to show you—something we need to talk about. But now," He glanced warily around the restaurant, finding the majority of diners focused on them instead of their entrees. "Now I'm thinking that this is not the time or place."

She continued to study his eyes, finding worry and apprehension. "What is this?" She asked, placing her hand on the envelope.

"It came for me by courier just before I left my office. I didn't open it because I was already late for your appointment. Then, I got stuck at that damn intersection so I thought I'd have a look."

"Bad news?"

"More so for you than me, I'm afraid." He rested his hand on top of hers. "I've changed my mind. Let's not do this here. Let's just go."

"Jonathan, I'm a big girl. I'm sure whatever it is, I can handle it." She pulled her hand free and took the envelope. "May I?" She asked.

He sighed, taking one more look around the restaurant. "Go ahead."

Jennifer reached inside the envelope and removed a handful of photos. Eight by ten glossies—at least two dozen of them. Without a word, she flipped through them with a rigid stare.

"That's me...with Angela."

"I recognize you." Her tone was flat.

"There was no note. Just those." He folded his hands together, leaning his elbows on the table.

Jennifer nodded, but didn't answer as she inspected photo after photo of Jonathan and Angela. Shopping. Dining. Dancing. Horseback riding. At the opera. At the Polo Club. On the slopes. On the golf course. Dressed up. Dressed down. All taken from the perspective of hidden paparazzi. A complete pictorial history of them as a couple. One particular picture caught her attention, and the light inside her innermost room turned dark. A picture of a handsome man and a well-bred blonde, locked in a tight embrace as they lay together on a beach atop an all too familiar plaid blanket. _Our blanket_. Suddenly, the happiness that bloomed inside her began to whither at the site of her husband with another woman. Never mind that it was in the past. Never mind that it was ancient history. As she tried to make sense of it all, Jonathan's words echoed in her mind. _I want you to know how different you are from her. From every woman I've ever been with. I never took an afternoon nap with Angela. I never ate pizza on my balcony in the middle of the day with her. I never took her to Gavin's house. Or Nino's place. She doesn't know the Celebrity Twin Game. She has no idea that my car is named Ava. We never danced on a blanket…_

"Aren't you going to say something?" He asked.

"I'm impressed." She answered.

"Impressed?"

"That you had your own photographer to capture each and every moment you shared."

"Oh c'mon…" He didn't care for her sarcastic tone.

"Millionaire playboy and the blonde bimbo. So cliché. But the paparazzo's dream, I'm sure."

"You make it sound like I arrange a private photo shoot. I had no idea about these."

"You do make a striking couple." Her sardonic statement was too much, and he called her on it.

"Listen, I came in here with the truth. I didn't have to show these to you. I could have kept it to myself and you would have never known a thing about it. Just one match, and they'd be gone. But that's not how we operate, remember? Love and Trust. You remember that part, right?"

Jennifer remained silent, avoiding his eyes.

Jonathan spoke again. "What I can't figure out is why your sitting here trying to make me feel guilty for something I had no control over."

"And what I can't figure out is why Angela would want to make me jealous."

"You can't be jealous." He shook his head in disgust.

"Why not?"

"You cannot be jealous." He said in a firm tone.

"Aren't I entitled to have a human emotion?" She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. The waiter approached, and she quickly looked away.

"Excuse me. Are you ready to order?" The waiter's gaze bounced between the two of them.

"Yes…" Jennifer stood, grabbing her purse off the table. "I think I'd like my car." And with a brisk gait, she headed for the door.

XXXXXXXXXX

The doorbell rang unexpectedly, but she ignored it. Lines of intense concentration covered her brow as her slender fingers moved across the black and white keys. The brooding, pensive prelude of Chopin's notes filled the room with a feeling of complex yearning. As she reached the crescendo, completely lost in the music, the doorbell sounded once more. Her hands returned to her lap, and she sighed heavily. Glancing up at the mantle clock, she smiled and pushed the bench away from the piano.

As she walked to the door, her smile grew in anticipation of who was waiting on the other side. _Thirty plus years of marriage, and still that man loves to surprise me._ She quickly turned the lock, swinging the door open in dramatic fashion.

"Dr. Livingston, I pre—Jennifer?" She stopped; caught off guard at the surprise visitor.

"Hi Diane. Look, I'm sorry I didn't call first. But I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd take chance. If you're busy…"

"I'm not busy at all. Come in, come in." She stepped back, welcoming Jennifer with a hug. "What a wonderful surprise. I'm so happy to see you." The two women walked arm and arm to the living room.

"I've been meaning to call you. Thank you so much for the flowers and the champagne you sent. You didn't need to do that."

"I know I didn't need to. I wanted to." She motioned to the sofa. "Sit down, please. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Listen, before you say anything, I have to tell you again what a fantastic time we had with you on Christmas Eve. And you were so generous to have us for dinner. I know we'd only agreed on drinks…"

"We were thrilled to have you. Really. It was such a treat for us."

"Archer and I talked about it all the way home. Being with you and Jonathan is like being with family. The warmth and caring you have for one another emanates to those around you. As soon as we walked through your door we felt it. I have to admit that we were feeling a little down that our daughter and future son-in-law were spending Christmas with his family. But between Max and Jonathan and your father! Well, it was one of our best holidays."

"It was a fun night. I'm so glad you enjoyed yourself."

Diane and Jennifer chatted away for several minutes, discussing an array of subjects: the Symphony Guild, up-and-coming young artists, and fundraising opportunities for seemingly worthwhile causes. Again, Jennifer was amazed at how easily their conversation flowed. Eventually she consented to a cup of tea, feeling relaxed in the presence of her new friend.

"Alright, now that we've exchanged the pleasantries of by-gone holidays and LA society, let's talk about why you're really here." She gave Jennifer a look. "No one's ever 'in our neighborhood.' Not way out here."

Jennifer bit her lip, taking a moment to decide how best to proceed. "Honestly? I came here for a little advice. Corporate wife to corporate wife."

Diane nodded and smiled. "I see. Well, I've worn the title of corporate wife for many years. Don't know if that qualifies me to give advice. But I'll do my best."

Jennifer hesitated, unsure how to begin. She looked down, turning her wedding ring round and round on her finger.

"Listen, I know it's hard. Believe me, I've been there. It's more than getting all dolled up and stepping out on your husband's arm. People assume that just because you have a few extra zeros on your paycheck that it takes the pain away. But it doesn't."

"Well, it's not that, exactly."

"Okay…" Diane cocked her head to one side, studying her guest. "Let's see if I can narrow the field a bit. Obviously, you've come here because something has come up. Something between you and Jonathan. Am I on the right track?"

"Yes." Jennifer nodded.

"Now there are thousands of things the corporate wife has to deal with, but I'd say they fall into a handful of categories. I'm guessing that it's probably not about the long hours involved in running a major corporation. I'm sure Jonathan is out the door promptly at five. Correct?"

"Correct."

"And I don't think its lengthy business trips, because I doubt that man can be away from you for more than a day or two. And I'm sure in most cases, he takes you with him, right?"

"Right."

"It's not about money. You two are very comfortable."

"We are." Jennifer began to smile.

"Jonathan's not an addict. No heavy drinking or drug use or gambling—aside from a friendly poker game."

"Right again." She shook her head with a laugh.

"So that leaves only one thing. It must be another woman."

Jennifer stared at the woman across from her; stunned. "How did you know?"

"Years of experience. Now, if you tell me that you suspect your husband is having an affair, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She shot her guest another serious look.

"Oh?" Jennifer looked surprised.

"Because I'll need to leave and find Archer before the world blows up. If Jonathan is running around on you, it's a sure sign of the Apocalypse." Diane grinned.

"No, it's nothing like that."

"Well, if he's not the pursuer, then I guess he's being pursued, is that it?"

"Would you mind telling me exactly how you know all this? Did Jonathan call you? Is he here?" She turned her head, checking for signs of her husband behind the sofa.

Diane laughed. "I know because I've been there." She tenderly patted Jennifer's hand. "Once upon a time, I was the young pregnant wife married to the dashing mogul. Everyone wanted a piece of Archer. He was the handsome, savvy Golden Boy with the Midas touch when it came to business. Men wanted to be him and women just wanted him." She looked at Jennifer with a softness in her eyes. "The only difference between young Mrs. Martin and young Mrs. Hart is that you're lucky enough to live in a gated estate. I had women lined up on the lawn."

"Well, they're not exactly lined up. More like lying in wait."

"Oh, I see. The 'let-me-play-mind-games-with-you-and-drive-your-wife-crazy' types?"

"Exactly."

"Was it a late-night phone call, with the caller hanging up at the sound of your voice? No wait—I bet it was a gift. Something expensive and tasteful? A cashmere sweater perhaps?"

"Neither. An anonymous package of photos. From an old flame."

"Oh yes. The old stack of incriminating photos. 'Lets-make-the-wife-so-jealous-she'll-leave-him-then-he'll-be-mine' photos, right?"

"How are you doing this? ESP or what?"

"As much as it pains me to say it, it's going to get worse before it gets better. There will be other packages. There will be phone calls. There will be gifts. It's only a matter of time. And much of it will be Jonathan's doing. Inadvertently, of course. Just like Archer, Jonathan is so friendly and accessible. People get the wrong idea. I'm not saying he's a flirt, at least he's not anymore, but women mistake his kindness for some type of advance." She paused, continuing to pat Jennifer hand with maternal comfort. "Bottom line: you grabbed the brass ring that everyone wants. But," She pointed to Jennifer's wedding ring. "the ring grabbed you as well. And that's all you need to remember."

"So basically I should just accept this?"

"It's that or make yourself miserable fighting an invisible foe."

Jennifer listened to the honesty and compassion in Diane's voice. Suddenly, she wished that she were home feeling Jonathan's arms around her.

"I'm not trying to be flippant about this. Having some woman send photos or gifts or anything to your husband is unsettling. Even the most secure women will feel a twinge of the green stuff. We're women. We feel. It's what we do. Venus. Mars. You do the math." She winked.

"But I just feel so…" Jennifer struggled to find the right word.

"Angry? Violated?"

"A little of both."

"And rightfully so."

"Jonathan showed me the pictures and I walked out. We'd just sat down for lunch at Café Anise and I left." Her wedding ring began circling her finger once more.

"And there in lies your answer."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the mass majority of husbands would've gotten rid of the evidence and kept their lips sealed. Jonathan loves you and trusts you enough to share everything with you. Everything. Good and bad."

Jennifer sat silently, allowing Diane's heartfelt words to sink in.

"So you weren't the pillar of strength this time. Big deal. You've never had to deal with this before. But practice makes perfect. And next time—because there will be a next time—you'll chalk it up to another day in Corporate America."

"I don't know." Jennifer didn't sound convinced.

"I know. You're strong, Jennifer. You're smart and strong. And that's why Jonathan is sharing the good and bad in his life with _you_ and not somebody else."

"I don't know what to say. Thank you just isn't enough." Jennifer leaned forward, embracing her friend warmly.

"We corporate wives have to stick together."

"Listen, you've been so kind to let me bend you ear. But I really should be getting home." Jennifer stood.

"I know he's waiting." Diane nodded.

As the two women made their way to the door, Jennifer eyed the piano and smiled.

"Hey, I meant to ask you. When I came to the door I heard the most beautiful music. I believe it was Chopin?"

"Very good!"

"Was that you?"

"Guilty."

"I didn't even know you played. You're fantastic. And that was just what I could hear through the door."

"Music is my passion. Teaching. Playing. Performing. I love it all."

"You know, Jonathan has an ear for music. You heard him play the other night. He's not ready for Carnegie Hall, but he did pretty well."

"Of course he did." Diane smiled smugly as she opened the door. "He's got one hell of a teacher."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan drove home in silence, fuming. He was mad. Mad at Angela. Mad at Jennifer. Mad at himself. _She can't possibly think those photos mean anything. Can she? And just what the hell is Angela up to? Money? Or just another game? Well it doesn't matter. She's succeeded in doing what I'm sure was her initial goal: throwing a wrench in my perfect day. Now Jennifer's upset. Well, she's more than upset. She's hurt, which is worse._ He recalled the pained look in her eyes as she studied each photo. _Why is it that when I lay it all out there, I come off as the bad guy? I just can't win._

He pulled up to the large wrought iron gate and stopped. _So this is the happy home of Jonathan and Jennifer Hart?_ He flipped up the console in search of the remote. _Well, here goes nothing._ Max would be no help to him, as he'd flown back to Seattle for his first extended stay since the aneurysm. He'd have to face his wife one on one. No witnesses. After several seconds, the gate opened and slowly he drove up the winding path.

He parked the convertible in the circular drive out front. All four garage doors were down. He walked around the back, expecting to find Jennifer lounging in her favorite chair near the pool. No luck. He let himself in through the back door, finding nothing more than a clean, quiet kitchen. He continued into the living room. N _othing. She's probably upstairs, hiding out_. He slowly climbed the stairs toward their bedroom. Empty. He checked the nursery. No sign of Jennifer. Just a sleeping dog lying under the crib. He could hear the whispers of Stephen's voice in his mind. _"You won't find her. She doesn't make it that easy. You're better off just waiting here. She'll be back."_

He sat down in the rocking chair with his head in his hands. _It's not supposed to be this way with us. We're different. We're better than this. I thought we fixed all this at Thanksgiving? Why is running away her answer to everything? Am I pushing too hard? Do I expect too much from her? How can the strongest woman I've ever known be so fragile at times? Why is her initial reaction one of avoidance?_ He stood, looking around their son's room and finally finding a much needed smile. He walked to the door, closing it slightly.

Back in their bedroom, he loosened his tie and flopped down on their bed. He felt a headache coming on, with lack of sleep from his late nights in New York and his wife going MIA being the cause. After several minutes, he pulled himself to his feet and into the bathroom in search of relief in tablet form. In the medicine cabinet, he found a bottle of ibuprofen tucked behind Jennifer's prenatal vitamins. He took her bottle down from the shelf, staring at her name printed in black letters across the prescription label. Jennifer Hart. A feeling of pride swept through him, seeing her name there. A feeling that he'd won the lottery after only buying one ticket. But the feeling quickly left him as he remembered the photos of himself with Angela. Jennifer wasn't his first lottery ticket and she knew it. But she was the only winning one he'd ever hit.

He popped two tablets and returned to their bed, this time removing his jacket and shoes. _Maybe just a few minutes to rest my eyes and I'll feel better._ The shutters were still closed, and the room was somewhat dark. As tired as he was, an uneasy feeling prevented him from true rest, and his mind raced. _I could call her._ He looked over at the phone. Again, he could see the image of his father-in-law shaking his head reproachfully. He turned over facing Jennifer's side of the bed, imagining her there. He rested his hand on her pillow and looked at the clock on her bedside table. He lay in silence and tried to focus his attentions elsewhere. After eleven minutes he gave up, bringing himself back up into a seated position. He sat on the edge of the bed for another two minutes, contemplating his next move then found his way to the desk.

 _Hey Buddy,_

 _I bet you're going to start charging me for these little sessions, aren't you? I wish I had some fatherly advice for you today, but I'm in need of some myself._

He stopped, staring down at his words. As his eyes traveled across the lines, he saw Jennifer across the table with tears in the corners of her eyes. Another two minutes ticked by before he continued.

 _You know something? There are just three phases in a man's life. The past. The present. And the future. We don't have a lot of power over the last one. Basically, we pray and hope for the best. And the one in the middle? The present? Well, it comes at us so fast that we're given little time to think. We hope that the decisions we make in the here and now will be the right ones. Sometimes they are, sometimes they're not. But we're blessed that the lessons of the present help us shape our future. At least, they should. We don't always heed the lesson._

 _But let's talk about the past. Now there's something we have absolutely no control over, yet, at times, it controls us to an astounding degree. Why? Why do we dwell on the things we can't change? Why do we keep going back to those places that hurt us? Is it because we're afraid to let them go? Because that's all we know? And why is it that we rarely revisit our successes, but are eager to pop in on our failures when we return to the past? Are we just creatures of habit, making sense of the world around us by measuring every situation against the places we've already been? If you think about it, the past is like an old rug. We walk across it, day after day—most days without notice. But on the days when we need some comfort—when we need some company for our misery—we just lie down on our rug and curl up into a ball. And on our worst days, we torture ourselves by not only laying on it, we look underneath it. We look at all the heartache that's accumulated over the course of our lives. Everything that was too difficult to deal with. Everything we said we'd forget, but secretly held on to. Where'd it end up? Under that rug. We know it's there. It's been there for years. Why?_

 _Everyone has a past. It shapes and forms who we are—the person we show to the world in the present. I still think a lot about my past. I think about it everyday. But there's a difference in thinking about your past, and allowing your past to consume you. The couple that gave me life will always be with me, but I have to keep them on the fringe - not in the middle. That's too much focus. That's the place reserved for you and your mother._

 _Your mother. Your beautiful mother. How is it that every letter I write to you eventually comes around to her? Like me, your mother has a past. Some of it good, and some of it not. There are things that I wouldn't want you mother to ever let go. All her happiest childhood memories. All the special times she spent with your grandmother. Wonderful times spent alone with your grandfather. Her success in school and her writing talent. There are so many things I love about her past because it made her the person I fell in love with. The things that made your mother strong and taught her to endure. But there are other parts of her past that I'd love to wipe away. The hurt. Pain. Regret. Not just with the death of her mother at a young age, and her bout with her spinal tumor. But other disappointments. Failed relationships. Broken promises. To the outside world, your mother appears unbreakable. But no one is unbreakable. And that's something I have to remember. At times I forget that soft and tender place that lies inside her, which makes no sense at all. Because it's in that soft and tender place that your mother gave birth to me and made me the man I am today._

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan woke up, feeling Freeway's nose on his hand. He eyed at the clock. Five-nineteen. He lay still for a moment, listening for any sign of his wife. The house remained as quiet as when he'd entered several hours before.

"Alright, Boy, let's go." He stood up, motioning for the dog to follow.

At the bottom of the stairs, he turned toward the living room to find Jennifer standing behind the bar, pouring a glass of Scotch. Her eyes connected with his and spoke only one word: truce.

"I don't think Dr. Sumner would approve. I know he said you could resume normal activity, but I don't think that includes whisky." He walked toward her.

"I'm just the bartender."

"When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago." She answered softly.

"Are you alright?" He asked sincerely.

"Oh I'm fine. I just finished up a new article: 'Insecure Hormonal Newlywed Abandons Husband in Fit of Jealousy.' She gestured wildly with her hands for emphasis.

"Now Jennifer…" He held up a hand, protesting her self-deprecating comment.

"I'm sorry." She sighed, pointing toward the sofa. "Can we?"

"Of course."

She carried his glass to him, and together they sat facing each other. Nervously, she twisted her mother's ring around her finger, trying to collect her thoughts.

"Can I tell you a story?"

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he nodded approvingly.

"Once upon a time there was this woman. She was a woman that most people envied. She traveled all over the world exploring and writing about all sorts of fascinating places. The people she came in contact with thought she was this really pulled together overachieving career woman who could hold herself in any situation. She had everything. At least, that's what the outside world thought. They thought she had it all. But on the inside, where it really mattered, she was alone. She was the Lonely Woman. She longed for something more, and for a time, she thought she'd found it. But she was wrong."

"Darling," He reached for her hand.

"Let me finish." She looked into his eyes. "One day, this lonely woman was minding her own business, trying her best to deal with a crisis, when she met this man. A stranger. A stranger with blue eyes that could see right inside her. For the first time in her life, she felt it. She felt that feeling that everyone talked about. That feeling of finally coming home. Of being in that safe place with the one who loves you most. Suddenly, this woman who'd lived out of a suitcase, hopping between hotels around the globe found she needed someone. She needed him. The stranger with the blue eyes. And as freeing as that should be…" She blinked and a tear fell onto his hand. A full minute passed before she composed herself enough to continue. "Jonathan, there'll always be a place inside me that will harbor a fear of losing you. I can't help it. I'm human. That's just who I am."

"But you have absolutely no reason to feel that way, you know that."

"Of course I know that. But let's put the eight by ten glossy on the other foot, shall we? How would you react to a handful of pictures of me with someone else?"

He paused, trying to imagine his wife in the arms of another man. "Much the same way you did, I guess."

"My father once told me that a little jealousy is good for a marriage. Keeps everyone honest."

"Jennifer," He spoke a second time, but again she cut him off.

"I know it might not mean much to you now, but I am sorry. I said I could handle it, but it just came so far out of left field. I wasn't ready. I know you tried to warn me, and I wouldn't listen. My insatiable curiosity got the better of me and now I'm paying the price." She paused and looked away. "We're paying the price."

Jonathan listened to her words; calm, rational and full of remorse. He'd sat in the presence of remorseful women before. Women who'd promised him all sorts of things. To be better listeners. Better liars. Better lovers. Better whatever. But none of them ever touched him the way Jennifer did. Some husbands make their wives crawl back, milking the moments of heartbreak. But at what cost?

"It wasn't about hurting you. You've got to know that. It was about sharing everything with you. Dealing with this together. That's why I showed you. That's the only reason I showed you."

"And once again, I ran off. Same song, different verse. Like a broken-record."

"Do I need to put a leash on you?" He moved closer to her, sliding his hand around her neck and sighing at the feel of her hair against his skin.

"You can't be letting me off this easy."

"Love means not having to jump through hoops for forgiveness, remember?"

"I don't deserve you." She shook her head.

"I know." He grinned. "But you're okay until something better comes along."

"Or until that blonde woman gets her hooks into you."

"Bimbo. I believe the correct term is bimbo."

"What do you think she wants?"

"I have no idea. My first thought was money but she has plenty of that. Probably boredom. I'm sure she's grown tired of her race car driver or lounge singer or cattle baron or whomever she's seeing."

"You two had quite a few adventures during your time together." Jennifer fished, curious if he'd bite.

"And none of them could even come close to the times I've spent with you."

"I don't know. Y'all were very From Here to Eternity in that one picture, rolling around on the beach together."

"On the plaid blanket, you mean?" He looked directly into her eyes, and she looked away.

"Were you on our blanket? I didn't notice." She feigned surprise.

"The hell you didn't. I'd lay two to one that that picture alone was responsible for your hasty exit. You stormed outta there after one look at it."

"I didn't storm out. A lady never storms. I _sashayed_."

"And may I say that I have never known a woman to sashay as elegantly as you."

She looked at him, biting her bottom lip. Holding her laughter in check, she kept to the serious side of the conversation.

"Jonathan, I don't want to play the role of the jealous wife. I'm really not a jealous person, you know that. I know in my heart that from the moment you looked down at me that first night together in your bed that you gave yourself to me. Totally. And I gave myself to you." She reached out for his hand. "I guess what I'm trying to tell you is that my life started at that moment. That was the single defining moment in my life when I found myself. I found you. And as silly as it is, part of me wants to be the only woman to ever lie on that blanket." She squeezed his hand tightly.

"Now it's my turn to ask a question."

"Okay."

"When you buy a picture frame, what's the first thing you do?"

"Pay for it?"

"Funny. No. You take the display picture out. You know, the picture of some random couple wearing fake smiles. Right?"

"Yes."

"Those pictures you saw today? Those people walking hand and hand down down Rodeo Drive and lying on that blanket? Did you notice anything unusual about them?"

"Well, the man was very handsome."

"Was he smiling? Did you ever see one shot of him smiling? Or laughing?"

Jennifer paused, unsure what to say.

"Did you see any evidence that the man in those photos was happy? I mean truly happy?" He pressed her.

"No." She answered softly.

"Jennifer, the reason they put those sample photos in the frames is just to give the buyer an idea of how a particular photo might look. They're fake. Posers. Not the real thing. They give the illusion of something real but it's just pretend. Think about it. If the sample pictures showed anything more than make-believe, then we'd leave them in there. And our houses would be covered with photos of people we didn't know. People pretending to be something they're not. But we're not like that. We can't wait to get home and tear that sample photo out, so that we can put in the memories that are real. The snapshots of real people, sharing real love." He reached inside his back pocket, removing his wallet. "I want to show you something." Flipping it open, he pulled out a small photograph. "Look at this picture and tell me what you see."

Jennifer took the picture and looked it carefully. She studied the man in a black tuxedo wearing an enormous smile. His arm was wrapped tightly around the waist of his bride. His eyes were locked on her and filled with complete adoration. It was candid. It was honest. It was real. _I could write the caption with just one word: forever._ She smiled, looking up at him.

"The pictures that illustrate my life," He touched her cheek, speaking again with a low tone. "Are the pictures of me with you."

Jennifer looked down at the photo in her hands once more. The sincerity in his words mirrored what she saw behind his eyes. It was true. There was nothing in the photos of Jonathan and Angela that showed anything like the image in her hand. Nothing this real. Nothing this right. Looking around the living room, she could see it. Every photo of them together captured the essence of truth. But deep down, she knew she didn't need a photographic reminder. It was there with her everyday. Every moment in that house. In their bed. In his eyes. She felt it. And she knew she was stronger because of it.

"This is one happy couple." Her eyes met his, and she held the picture out to him.

"I don't think happy even begins to describe them." Taking the picture from her, he studied it once more, running his finger lovingly over her image before returning it to his wallet.

"What are you going to do about the other couple?" She asked softly.

"The other couple? In the photos?"

"Yes, that other couple?"

"That couple doesn't exist. It never did."

"Well, that couple might be history, but the evidence isn't."

"That, my dear, is where you are wrong. All photographs have been properly disposed of, and hopefully, that will be the end of that."

"The end? Just like that?"

"Just like that." He nodded emphatically.

"Aren't you the slightest bit curious as to why she sent them?"

"Nope."

"Not even a teensy, weensy bit?"

"Not even that much." He paused. "As our dear friend Ms. Wharton once said, 'What's the use of making mysteries? It only makes people want to nose 'em out.'" Jonathan scanned her eyes with a serious look. "And loosely translated, that means case closed. Your trash tabloid days are over, remember?"

"But I'm a journalist—committed to going the distance to get to the heart of the story."

"You want a story? Here's a story..." He moved in closer, lowering his voice and speaking to her in a husky whisper. "Once upon a time there was a lonely man, who against his better judgment began dating a blonde bimbo. She was all wrong for him. Then one day, he met the right woman. A gorgeous redhead. She was everything he was looking for. So, he ditched the bimbo, married Red, and they lived happily ever after. House. Dog. Kid. The complete package. The End."

"This story sounds awfully familiar. This wouldn't be the same redhead that tried to trap the lonely man with her uterus, would it?"

"The very same. But it wasn't her uterus that trapped him, like some people thought. It was her eyes." Focusing on her face, he smiled. His gentle expression conveyed only one thing and she couldn't wait to fall into him.

"I have a new story. Would you like to hear it?"

"Absolutely."

"Once upon a time," She ran her hand along the buttons of his dress shirt. "There was this redhead. She'd been so lonely, because her husband had been in New York all week on business."

"Wait! That reminds me," He took her hand in his, lightly kissing it before hopping up off the sofa. "I have a little something for you. I'll be right back." Jonathan flashed his winning smile, then turned and jogged toward the stairs.

Alone in the living room, Jennifer allowed her eyes to travel, slowly taking in the various photos neatly displayed around her. At the bar. On the bookcase. On the end tables. Atop the piano. They hadn't known each other for a year, and yet, dozen of pictures told a story around the perimeter of the room. Not just any story. Their story. Even to the casual observer, the photos of their lives would elicit a pause; a time to reflect on the possibility that fairy tales just might exist. There was this certain something between the two of them. Whether you stood before them or simply gazed at their photographs, the feelings that existed between Mr. and Mrs. Hart could be felt by all. It was beyond description and was the reason why heads turned and whispers spread when they entered a room. They walked a fine line between admiration and jealousy to those around them—those who blessed happiness in all forms, and those embittered with envy. The latter, she knew, being the bearers of unwelcome packages and late night mysterious phone calls. _Life is a battle fought between the haves and the have-nots,_ she considered. _And don't I have it all._

Jennifer smiled knowingly, and her mind traveled back to the love letter that Jonathan had written. It was the first time in her life that a man had conveyed such deep emotions on paper to her. Maybe it was because Jonathan loved her as no man ever had. His words had the same power over her body as his hands—or even his lips. And though he regularly uttered those three little words that every woman longs to hear, it always sounded as if he was speaking them for the first time. Resting her hands on her belly, she sighed and closed her eyes. _Rest in peace, dear Edith, for I now know the Fullness of Life._

The phone startled her, bringing her thoughts unwillingly away from the quiet moment inside her innermost room.

"I'll get it." She hollered, crossing the room to the phone on the desk. Placing her hand atop the receiver, she froze. Would the caller on the other speak, or leave her hanging in silence? There will be calls. There will be gifts. She remembered Diane's words, and took a deep breath. Let the games begin…

"Hart Residence." She answered with marked reserve.

"Does being a millionaire's wife require such formality?" A woman's voice inquired.

"That all depends." Jennifer responded coolly.

"Really? On what?"

"On why the best friend of said millionaire's wife would be calling at this time on a Friday night. Surely you have more exciting things going on?" She smiled.

"Well, because the best friend of said millionaire's wife has gotten herself into a jam and needs said millionaire's wife to bail her out."

"What have you done now?" Jennifer joked.

"Nothing you can't write me out of."

She pulled the chair out from behind the desk. "Shall I take notes?" Holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, she opened several drawers in search of a notepad or piece of paper. Rifling through the bottom right-hand drawer, she stopped cold when she stumbled across a letter written in Jonathan's hand.

"Jen, are you still there?" Patsy asked.

"Hold on a minute. I'm looking for something to write with." She lied, slipping the letter from its hiding place. With a stealthy move, she threw her eyes toward the stairway, but there was no sign on Jonathan. She quietly settled herself behind the desk and began reading. _Hey Champ!_ She quickly scanned his words, feeling a smile on her lips.

"Hurry up. I'm meeting someone in less than an hour and I'm not even dressed."

"Sorry." She carefully tucked the letter back into the drawer and grabbed a pencil. "I'm ready. Start from the beginning."

She quietly recorded her dear friend's request, offering only the occasional uh-huh as acknowledgement. She let out a heavy sigh just as Jonathan returned, carrying a small package adorned with a white bow. Smiling up at him, she signaled that she'd just be another minute. With the particulars finally in order, she started to doodle, drawing tiny hearts across the notepad.

"Alright, bottom line it for me. What does he want?" Jennifer asked.

"Anything. Whatever you want. But this is The New Yorker, so..."

"Something upscale, but not condescending?"

"Yes. Politically correct, but not too preachy."

"Fresh, but not too avant-garde?"

"See, you can do this in your sleep. That's why you're the best."

"If I was truly the best, I'd be lying on the sofa beside my incredibly sexy, gift-bearing husband right now and you'd be sitting in front of a computer." Jennifer winked at him, playfully wrapping the phone cord around her finger.

"Just fax me the draft, then we'll talk."

"Say goodnight, Gracie." Jennifer shook her head with a grin.

"Thanks, Jen. I owe you."

Jennifer placed the receiver back in its cradle and sighed again.

"Who was that?" Jonathan asked, though he felt certain he knew who'd been on the other end of the call.

"Patsy."

"Let me guess. She wants you to write her term paper."

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Made some promises she now realizes she can't keep, did she?"

"It's just one little article. For the New Yorker."

"That's hardly what I'd call little."

"It's no big deal. Really." She gave what she hoped would be a convincing nod.

"Jennifer…" He resumed his spot on the sofa with a sigh, turning the small box over in his hands several times before placing it on the coffee table. "We've talked about this. We agreed that from here on out, anything and everything you put down on paper would be at your discretion and on your terms. A thousand words or ten, it should be your call. If you don't want to write an article for The New Yorker, then call her back and tell her no."

"But she's my oldest and dearest friend."

"Which qualifies her to respond with abundant understanding."

"I really don't mind. Honestly. And I've never had anything published in The New Yorker before. Just think of it as another feather in my corporate cap." She winked.

"So much for your sabbatical from the establishment."

"It's just one little piece."

"Until Patsy calls the next time. Because there's going to be a next time. You know that, don't you?"

"So next time I'll say no."

"Just like you did this time?"

"Jonathan, I get the feeling you don't want me to write this article. Why?"

"I support your writing one hundred percent. If it's what you truly want to do, that is. I don't like the idea of you writing based on some obligation."

"It's not an obligation. I could have said no, but I didn't."

"Well, as long as it doesn't take away from your 'me' time."

"Aha! That's what I thought. She won't need the article for at least a week or so."

"By next week?" He couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Jonathan Hart, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're worried."

"I'm not worried." He shook his head defiantly.

"Maybe jealous is more like it."

"Jealous? Why would I be jealous?"

"Because writing takes away from me time and you time." She smiled.

Jonathan smirked. He couldn't lie. Dr. Sumner had given them the all clear and the key to their week long vacation getaway sat quietly inside the wrapped box on the table in front of him. And he didn't want to share his wife with anyone or anything. Including her laptop.

"Truth? I might be a tad bit jealous." He fought to hold back a smile.

"You cannot be jealous." She slowly approached him, curling up beside him on the sofa once again.

"Aren't I entitled to have a human emotion?" He held his hand over his heart and spoke with dramatic emphasis, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

Jennifer bit her lip, but it was no use. She couldn't contain her laughter. And once she started, Jonathan found he couldn't contain his either.

"I really said that?" She asked with an embarrassed look.

"You were good. And then, the way you snatched your purse up…" Jonathan stood, grabbing a book from the coffee table with theatrical flair then tucking it sharply under his arm and strutting around the living room. "Skip the drinks. I'll take my car please." He imitated Jennifer's voice.

"Maybe I should give up writing and go into acting."

"Maybe you should let me take you away from all this." Dropping the book back on the coffee table, he found his place beside her on the sofa. He swept her hair back away from her shoulder, and held her gaze with a playful expression.

"All what?"

"The stress of being a pregnant housewife."

"And just where would we go?"

"The choice is your. Anywhere. For a week. One week. No distractions. Away from doctors, and meetings, and incompetent cervices."

"Sorry, but where I go, mine cervix goes as well."

"Well, we can leave the doctors and meetings behind."

"And what about the ex-girlfriends, and my writing?"

"The ex-girlfriends stay. The writing you can take, if you promise to share a little piece of yourself with me."

"My piece has only one size—and it ain't little." She reached for his hand, placing his gently on her belly. Tenderly, he rubbed his hand across her with a smile. "So where do you want to go?" She asked.

"Oh no! I'm not making the decision. He reached for the gift, and handed it to her. "You are."

"Another treat prize?" She shook her head with disapproval.

"It's no big deal. Just a little token from New York." He snuggled up next her.

"Jonathan, we've talked about this a million times. You must stop with all these gifts."

"Now tell me honestly. Do you really want me to stop?"

"Well…" Again Jennifer bit her lip, trying not to smile.

"That's what I thought." He winked. "Now go on. Open it."

She removed the small white bow and red wrapping paper, smiling at him with a mischievous grin. Opening the box, she laughed out loud when she found an unexpected trinket.

"Ah! It's a token. From New York." She lifted the small brass coin from the box.

"Not just any token. This one has a job to do. Here, let me see it…" He reached out, and she placed the token in his hand. "Heads or tails—you pick." Making a fist, he balanced the token on his right thumb, ready to send it up in the air.

"What are flipping for?"

"Our trip."

"You mean mountains versus beach?"

"Exactly."

"But I've told you it doesn't matter to me. You decide."

"Nope. It's your call. Now what's it going to be?"

"Really Jonathan, you pick."

"Listen. Heads—you win and you pick. Tales—I win and I pick. Fair enough?"

"Deal." She nodded.

"This side is heads, alright." He showed her the top of the coin before tossing the token into the air. With a confident smile, he caught it with his left hand. He carefully flipped it over onto the back of his right hand.

"Heads! You win." He showed her the coin. "Anywhere you like, just name the place." He placed the token on the coffee table and smiled, waiting for her response.

Jennifer hesitated for a moment, remembering back to a picture of a woman in a silver frame, wearing a bright pink ski cap and aviator sunglasses. Suddenly, the idea of being in the mountains was anything but appealing. She reached for the token, nervously turning it over in her fingers but keeping her eyes focused firmly on his. _Well, a bet is a bet. And he did promise me the beach._

Still debating, she studied the token momentarily then looked up at him with surprise.

"Jonathan, this coin is the same on both sides." She commented, holding it up to him.

"Hmm…so it is." He inspected the token closely.

"You cheated!"

"What?"

"You set me up. I won the flip with a two-sided token." She gave him a look.

"I know. Stick with me and you'll always come out a winner." He grinned. "We better hurry." He stood, offering his hand to help her up.

"We're leaving now?" She asked in an exasperated tone.

"No, but I need you to come wax my surfboard." He winked.

 **TBC**


	19. Chapter 19

With eyes closed, she rested her head against his shoulder as they cruised quietly toward the famed island resort. Her body was tired. She hadn't slept well the night before. The anticipation of their last trip as a twosome, coupled with her ever expanding midsection made finding a comfortable sleeping position difficult. She couldn't wait to slip into a hot shower and into his arms for the first of many decadent afternoon naps. They'd penned their itinerary with just one word: relaxation. And they mutually agreed that if they were forced to engage in something besides each other, it would not interfere with their _us_ time. Jennifer could work on her article while Jonathan puttered around the greens. And Jonathan could check in with the Board while Jennifer indulged in a day of luxurious spa treatments. But when the sun began to set, it would be all about them. No conference calls. No editors. No exceptions.

The weather was gorgeous. A breezy, sunny day hovering right around the eighty degree mark. As they drove up the main drive of the property, he reached over, resting his hand on her thigh.

"We're here, Darling."

"I'm sorry." She opened her eyes, sitting up with a small yawn.

"You're not going narcoleptic on me again like you did in London, are you?"

"I just didn't sleep well last night. I need a nap then I'm good to go."

"Any excuse to be horizontal with you is okay by me." He gave her knee a playful squeeze.

"Jonathan Hart, when are you not thinking about sex?"

He didn't answer her, but continued to move his hand further up her leg.

They pulled up the main entrance and Jonathan helped her from the car. The refreshing breeze blew in her hair, and she instantly felt rejuvenated. Inside the lobby, they were greeted with a stunning array of tropical plants, rich wood tones and soothing colors. While he registered, Jennifer explored the hotel, examining the work of local artisans on display around the lobby _. If the suites are anything like this,_ she admired the tasteful and expensive appointments of the hotel.

Within a minute, he was back by her side, smiling slyly and waving a key.

"The key to the kingdom?" She asked.

"Better. The key to the elevator. A private elevator to take us directly to our suite. And you know what being in an elevator with you does to me."

"Jonathan, now you cannot set off the alarm in here." She shook her head firmly.

"Watch me." He took her hand, leading her to the elevator. Looking warily around, he inserted the key and waited. Another minute passed and he rocked back and forth on his heels, still smiling at her in his same naughty fashion as they waited.

"You wouldn't?" She looked at him with an uncertain expression as she followed him into the elevator.

"Are you daring me?"

"Oh no. I've learned my lesson. I've played enough poker with you to know that you rarely bluff."

They rode hand in hand up a short distance before stopping. The elevator doors opened and Jennifer held her breath for a moment. Looking into what would be their home for the next seven days, she was amazed.

"Oh my! This is incredible." She walked into their suite, completely stunned.

"What do you think? Can you live here for a week?" He asked, tossing his jacket on the back of the sofa.

"I could live here forever." She made a beeline for the enormous private lanai that framed the spectacular ocean view.

"And I understand their room service is incredible, so we never have to step foot outside if we don't want to." He joined her, wrapping his arms around her neck. She leaned back against him, closing her eyes once more, thankful for their safe arrival.

"Don't you think we'll run out of things to do?" She turned toward him.

"You haven't seen my list." He rubbed his nose against hers.

His cell phone rang with a quiet tone, and they both traded puzzled looks.

"If that's your office…" Jennifer frowned.

"No way. We've only been here ten minutes." Jonathan reached inside his pocket. "Yes." He answered. "Okay. That will be fine. Thank you." He hung the phone up and turned to Jennifer with a smile.

"Who was that?" She asked.

"Room Service." He grabbed his jacket off the back of the sofa, pulling a folded piece of paper from the inner pocket, along with a pen.

"What's that?" She motioned toward the paper he held in his hands.

"The list."

"What list?"

"The list. The list." He removed the pen's cap and drew a neat line across the paper.

"Jonathan, who was that on the phone?" She inquired a second time, utterly confused.

"I told you. Room Service."

"What did they want?"

A knock sounded from behind the elevator door.

"I was thinking," Jonathan rounded the sofa and made his way toward the elevator. "why settle for sixteen minutes when we can have sixty?"

"What?"

Pressing the button, the doors opened. Two women in crisp white shirts and khaki pants entered, carrying what appeared to be massage tables.

"Good afternoon, ladies. You can just set those up out there." He pointed out to the lanai.

The two women nodded and smiled, continuing on toward the outdoor space.

"And just what exactly are you up to?" Folding her arms across her chest, she gave him a look.

He took her hand, leading her through the dining room and toward the master bedroom. "I made a little list."

"I thought we agreed on no itinerary?"

"I read an article one time that said the tone of one's vacation is set within the first fifteen minutes of one's arrival. If the accommodations are wrong, or there's a problem of any kind, most people tend to have negative memories of their vacation, regardless of how the remainder of their stay goes. I'm just making sure that we start off on the right foot."

"With his and hers massage?"

"The first item on the list." He held the paper up.

"So what else on the list?"

"Oh no! It's a secret."

"Not even a hint?"

"Not even one. But I promise you will enjoy each and every tantalizing item."

"A thousand and one pleasures?"

"The more the merrier."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _My Little Prince,_

 _Well, here I am all stretched out on a comfy lounge chair, enjoying the view of a gorgeous pool, and just beyond that, the endless blue waves of the Pacific Ocean. Your daddy and I are here in Maui, enjoying what will be the last vacation we take before becoming your parents. I must say that I was a little skeptical of Hawaii during the winter months. Being a traditionalist, I've always leaned more towards snowy mountains for a winter getaway. But how wrong I was. The weather here is beautiful. Just a couple of rain showers scattered about, but otherwise warm and breezy—the perfect place to relax. We're into Day Three of our restful retreat but our first day to actually make it outside our suite. Your father has showered with me endless attention and Five Star pampering from the moment we arrived. Massages, facials, bubble baths, private Yoga sessions. He even surprised me last night with a special dinner for two, cooked by a professional chef inside our suite. The past forty-eight hours have been nothing short of hedonistic and I've thoroughly enjoyed each and every minute of it. But today, I thought we needed some fresh air. So I stuck a golf club in your father's hand and sent him out to the links. Meanwhile, I am soaking up some sun and sharpening my people-watching skills here at the pool. I am supposed to be writing an article for your Aunt Patsy, but I just can't seem to get the old creative juices flowing. And besides, I'd much rather write to you instead._

 _I've been sitting out here for a while now, and I cannot keep my eyes off this one little boy. If I had to venture a guess, I would say that he's probably about five years old. Dark hair. Tanned skin. A gorgeous child. He's the only child his age in the pool right now, and it doesn't seem to bother him in the least. He's been keeping himself entertained with a bevy of boats and toys, several of which seem to "accidentally" splash his mother on occasion. His mother, however, is armed with a water gun and finds much pleasure in defending herself against him while pretending to hide behind her magazine. He has the most adorable laugh, and squeals with delight when his mother squirts him. You can just feel the love between the two of them. The way he looks up at her, with the water clinging to his long dark eyelashes—his eyes are filled with loving devotion. And the way she looks down at him with eyes full of pride—as if he's the only child in the world. Your grandmother used to look at me that way. As I sit here watching the two of them, I can't help but wonder what our interactions will be like. Will you look up at me with the same eyes, full of unconditional love? What kind of parent will I be? The playful parent? The stern parent? Overprotective? Probably a combination of all three. I know one thing: your father will play only one role—that of the playful parent. Oh, he's so crazy about you already! And I don't think I mentioned all the wonderful toys he has waiting for you. Santa certainly did right by you. Wait until you see all the trains, toy soldiers, and sports equipment. I feel certain that if he was here at this moment, he would have quickly befriended this young boy and engaged him in a water fight to rival any. He's just a big kid himself._

Jennifer looked up, seeing a flash of something from the corner of her eye. There, just beside her chair, lay an orange Frisbee. Glancing across the pool, she saw the same little boy, shyly hiding behind his mother. The woman smiled apologetically and waved. Jennifer reached down for the Frisbee with a grin. She stood, grateful for an excuse to stretch her legs, and walked around the pool toward them. As she approached their chairs, she could hear the woman gently reprimanding her son in French.

"Bonjour là beau. Est-ce que ceci appartient à vous?" Jennifer smiled, holding the Frisbee out to him.

"Adrien, que dites-vous à la gentille dame? The woman asked her son with a sharp tone.

"Merci." He responded quietly, but would not meet her eyes.

"Now go on. Go play." She gave the boy a light and loving swat on the backside then turned to Jennifer.

"You speak English?" Jennifer looked surprised.

"Yes. And I'm sorry about that. He's got a great arm, but his aim's a little off."

"Oh, it's no problem. I probably need the practice anyway." Jennifer gave her baby bump a pat.

"Is this your first?" The woman asked.

"Yes."

"Well, you are in for a treat." She turned her eyes back to her son who now sat happily splashing on the steps of the pool.

"He's beautiful." Jennifer commented warmly.

"Thank you. He's a quite a handful too. All boy. Into everything. One big mess."

"I have one of those myself. Only mine's taller. And forty-eight." She smiled. "How old is he?"

"Almost five. His birthday is in three weeks. Believe me, if you ask him, he'll tell you all about it."

"He's gorgeous. And such a good little swimmer. He's braver than I am, even with a heated pool."

"Well, he's an Aquarius, so he's just naturally drawn to the water. Except when it's bath time. I can't get him in the tub. Too busy. Then, once he's in, I can't get him out." She rolled her eyes with good humor.

"I have to admit that I've had a hard time concentrating on my work. I just couldn't stop watching the two of you and your water gun showdown."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I hope we weren't being too loud."

"Oh no, it's not that. I was thoroughly enjoying watching the two of you. To be honest, I was making some 'mother-and-son' notes."

"So you're having a boy?"

"We are." Jennifer nodded. "In April."

"Adrien, veuillez faire attention!" The woman snapped her fingers at her son.

"You're French?"

"Not by birth. Only by choice. We have a house just outside Avignon."

"Really? My mother was born there."

"So you're from France?"

"Actually no. I was raised here in the United States. Just outside of DC. My mother was French. My father's English."

"My father was a lover of languages and took me all over the world. He was determined I'd be bilingual. So, I'm passing it down to Adrien too."

"Your father's name isn't Stephen by chance?"

"No." The woman looked puzzled.

"Because _my_ father pulled me all over the globe for the very same reason."

The little boy joined them again, eyeing Jennifer suspiciously before whispering something in his mother's ear.

"I think it's time to call it a day. The potty calls." She gave Jennifer a grin.

"Well, have a good evening. I enjoyed visiting with you."

"Me too." The woman stood, collecting their things and stashing them in an over-sized designer tote bag. She wrapped a large towel around her son, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Maybe we'll see you again. We're here until Friday. Hopefully next time, we won't hit you with any flying objects." She stuffed the orange Frisbee into her bag with a smile.

A dark, handsome man with a foreign accent and hair the color of Adrien's called out to them from across the pool. He was dressed casually, but his choice in clothing was very expensive. Jennifer studied him, imagining he'd just stepped off the page of an Italian sports car advertisement. He waved at the woman and the boy; an impatient and frustrated look on his face.

"I guess Daddy's ready for you to call it a day too." Jennifer commented.

"Oh that's not his daddy." The woman swung the large tote over her shoulder. "But he'd sure like to be."

XXXXXXXXXX

"You look fabulous." Jonathan stood as his wife entered the living area, quickly folding a large roll of cash and hiding it into his pocket. Kissing her lightly on the cheek, he lingered for a second, drinking in her scent.

"What is that?"

"What is what?" He asked innocently.

"All that money? You never carry cash. And when you do, never more than about fifty bucks."

"Oh, that was a little side bet I placed for Max earlier this afternoon."

"They have horse racing in Maui?" She shook her in disbelief.

"No, not horse racing. On the golf course."

"You were hustling on the golf course?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it hustling exactly. More like proving the old saying that a fool and his money are soon parted."

"Jonathan, we have more money than we will ever be able to spend in this or any other lifetime, and you're _gambling_? On the golf course? During our vacation?"

"What can I say? They dared me. And you know me, I don't bluff. Plus, my short game was really on today, so I couldn't miss."

"Jonathan?"

"It's not for me. It's for Max."

"Okay, never mind. You want to have a drink here or at the restaurant?" She asked.

"If we don't leave now, I'll never let you out of here." He nibbled her earlobe.

"Then we better go."

"Let me call down for the car." Jonathan turned, but Jennifer grabbed his arm.

"No, let's walk. It's just around the corner."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to get tired."

"Let's see. Two days holed up in this suite and a day of lounging by the pool. Yep, you're right. I've been going at it entirely too hard. You better go ahead and call down for a car." She winked.

The sun was beginning to set just as they were seated. The cool night air, they decided, was a bit too chilly so they opted for an inside table. Though it was early, the restaurant was crowded. Jonathan ordered their drinks: a martini for himself and a V-8 for his expectant wife. Looking around at the faces of the diners, they spotted several celebrity twins, including a balding Steven Spielberg and a young Dean Martin. They immediately fell into deep conversation and each other's eyes—totally oblivious to the world around them. Their laughter filled the air, drowning out all other sounds of the restaurant. Several minutes passed before a waiter appeared, bringing them back to reality. After placing their order, Jennifer reached into her bag, and removed a small box wrapped in silver paper with a black bow. She placed it on the table in front of him with a smile.

"What's this?" He asked.

"A treat prize." She grinned.

"Another treat prize? Jennifer, we've talked about this a million times. You have got to stop buying all these gifts." He teased.

"Now let's be honest. Do you really want me to stop?" She winked.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say it's probably not golf clubs." He picked up the box, giving it a gentle shake.

"That would be contributing to the delinquency of a gambler. You're done on the golf course this trip."

He tore through the wrapping, eager to see his surprise. He laughed as he pulled a bright blue plastic water gun from underneath several layers of tissue paper.

"Now this," He inspected the gun on all sides. "is impressive. But I'm already packing a high powered weapon." His flashed a naughty smirk her way.

Jennifer laughed, shaking her head. "When I was sitting out at the pool today, I was writing a let—I was working on my article for Patsy, and I couldn't keep my eyes off this precious little boy who was playing in the pool. His mom had a water gun, and they were having the best time splashing and squirting each other. And I thought to myself, _if Jonathan were here, he'd be in that pool playing Cowboys and Indians with that little guy and loving every minute of it._ "

"How old was the little boy?" He placed the toy back inside the box with a smile.

"About five. Adorable. He has this dark curly hair, and these beautiful eyes with the longest eyelashes." Jennifer's hand joined the story, as she motioned in the air, sharing all the details of her afternoon encounter. "I wish you could have heard his laugh. It was like a symphony of happiness. And just so natural too—completely unaware of anything except his toys and his mom. He was having a ball."

"It sounds like you were having a ball just watching."

"Well I was." She smiled, remembering the light dancing in the little boy's eyes. "It's silly I know, but I have this picture of you and LP playing. I just can't wait to see the two of you together. And that's why I bought the water gun."

"It's not silly because I have pictures of the two of you in my head too. Pictures of you rocking him to sleep, or falling asleep beside him in our bed." He placed his hand on top of hers, gently rubbing her thumb with his own.

Jennifer looked up at him with serious eyes. "Just before I went back up to our suite, I chatted with the little boy's mother for a few minutes. A lovely woman. Very friendly. Beautiful. She was asking me questions about my pregnancy, my due date, et cetera, and telling me what a handful her son was. Anyway, just as she was leaving, a man who I thought was her husband called out to her from across the pool. Well, I put my foot in my mouth and said something like _'Oh I guess Daddy's ready to call it a day,'_ to which this woman informed me that he was not the father of her child. Then I noticed that she was not wearing a ring."

"Ouch. Score one for the awkward moment."

"Oh I don't think my comment bothered her as much as it bothered me. And it's bothered me all day."

"Why?"

"Well, I just can't stop thinking about that beautiful little boy. Part of the picture was missing?"

"Daddy was MIA?"

"Exactly."

"Oh Darling…" Jonathan squeezed her hand, moved by the compassion in his wife's words. "People do get divorced. It happens. Some children grow up never knowing their parents. And some children have to give a parent back." He gave her a knowing look.

"I know." She sighed. "But this little boy is so beautiful. A he's a spitfire too. So full of life and mischief. I sat there and I couldn't help but think if this kid's father is alive and well and choosing to miss out on this _..._ "

"Children grow up in all kinds of families. Some traditional, some not. You grew up with two parents for a while, then just your father. I had the ladies and children of Mission Street. Not exactly a fairy tale existence. But then I met Max and look what happened. Now you and I are both happy, well-adjusted adults for the most part. Maybe that little boy you saw today is truly happy, despite whatever his family situation may be."

"You're right. I don't know why I'm letting it bother me. The curse of being a hormonal pregnant woman I guess. I just wish that Adrien—that's the little boy's name—I wish he was lucky enough to have a father like you. I wish that for all children." She paused a moment, slipping her hand from under his. She readjusted the napkin in her lap then smiled up at him. Looking into her husband's eyes, she could see only two words reflected in the deep blue she saw: _Hey Champ!_

"That's the greatest compliment I've ever been paid. Thank you." He nodded with a soft expression in his eyes.

"I know the kind of father you're going to be. And I know that as long as you have a breath in your body you will not miss out any of those precious moments. That's why I bought that water gun. I watched that little boy and I could see you and LP there, laughing and playing. You would have been in Heaven."

"Jennifer, listen. We can't save all the children in the world. But we can give everything to the one we've been given. And I promise, I will be right there in that pool, giving LP hell with this." He held the water gun up with a wink.

"But not too rough." She cautioned.

"Of course not. I'm saving the rough stuff for you." He winked again.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _We're back in our suite now, and it's very late. Daddy's asleep, but I couldn't find a comfortable position so here I am. I forgot to pack my favorite pillow and it's making for very long nights. Daddy tries his best to make me more comfortable, but some things are beyond his help. Now don't get me wrong—I'm not complaining. As long as you're comfy in there, that's all that matters to me. And there are some advantages to being up alone. I've always done my best thinking late at night. In college, I was famous for pulling the proverbial all-nighter. There's something about the night—something mysterious yet calming. To me, the night is like a deserted tennis court. You can imagine you're at match point at Wimbledon, or you can quietly practice shot after shot. You can conceive a plan of brilliance, or merely reflect on the simplicity of life. But the thing I love best about the night is that it allows you to run with the thoughts that seem unreasonable in the light of day. And if you're lucky, when you wake in the morning, all those shadowy ideas that danced in darkness will create a kaleidoscope of color to start your day._

 _Your grandfather is a night owl too. We used to stay up until all hours just talking or playing a quiet game of backgammon. I used to think it was because he loved conversation and recreation. But now, as the years have formed lines on his face, I can see that it was something else entirely. To climb into the bed that he shared with your grandmother—alone—was a painful task for him on many nights. I'm not sure if it's because my mother took her last labored breaths there, or because he can't bear the thought of lying alone in the most sacred place in one's marriage. He's spent more nights asleep in the large leather chair in his study than in his own bed. I can't even count how many times I've found him that way with his glasses down on the end of his nose and his hands resting quietly atop a newspaper or auction catalog. His mouth was always turned down with a hint of sadness. It didn't matter if I woke him or not. He rarely made the journey upstairs to his room. But there would be days when I would find him there, asleep on his bed. He loved to nap in his room. If he wasn't in the paddock or out riding on a Sunday afternoon, that's where he'd be, lying peacefully beneath an antique cotton_ _piqués de Marseilles that my mother's mother quilted. My father loved to curl up with my mother and nap under that quilt on the weekends. In my mother's last days, he spent hours beside her, tracing the lines of intricately stitched motifs with one hand while holding her tightly with the other. I asked my father about that quilt back at Thanksgiving. He just smiled, but never answered. I didn't press him, but I have a pretty good idea what happened to it. It's locked up tight behind the door to his innermost room. A room that's been dark for as long as I can remember. I guess time doesn't heal every wound._

 _Well, my precious boy, I should try and get something for your Aunt Patsy down on paper. She's probably pacing the floor at this very moment, eager to see what I come up with it. She might have a hard time sleeping if she knew I have absolutely no idea what to write about._

 _Night-night!_

 _Mommy_

XXXXXXXXXX

Jonathan rolled over; the sound of surf in his head. He reached out for the warm body of his wife, but found the spot on her side of the bed empty. Looking across the bedroom of their suite, he could see the silhouette of her pregnant form. She stood at the window, arms folded across her chest, gazing out at the dark waves. The clock beside the bed showed midnight had come and gone. It wasn't the first time he'd awoken to find her somewhere other than their bed. Sleeping had become a real issue and she struggled with comfort on a regular basis now. But even in the moonlight, he could tell from her rigid stance that something besides her midsection was keeping her from true rest. Quietly he joined her at the window.

"I woke you." She spoke apologetically, turning to him and sliding her arms up around his neck.

"Are you alright?" He asked with a voice full of genuine concern.

"I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep. I wrote for a while, but I can't concentrate."

"I worry about you, you know?"

"I know you do. I'll be alright." She nodded and sighed heavily. "I just can't stop thinking about that woman and her little boy at the pool."

"They're still on your mind?"

"Yes. No. It's not really them. I don't know what I'm feeling exactly."

Jonathan searched her eyes, looking for a way to comfort her confused emotions.

"I can't imagine raising a child by myself." She spoke in a whisper.

"And you're not going to."

"I know. But how do people do it?"

"I don't know." He gently rubbed his hands up and down her back.

"How did my father do it? How did he go on without my mother there?"

"He did it for one reason and one reason only. Love. Your father loves you more than anything or anyone in the world. There's nothing he wouldn't do for you."

"He's a stronger person than I am, because I couldn't do it."

"You could do it. You're just as strong. Maybe even stronger. Your father did what he had to do. He didn't have a choice. Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. But if we've surrounded ourselves with the people who love us most, then we'll always find a way."

"I wouldn't want to do this without you. Take a child on a vacation by myself. Watch him perform in the school play by myself. Teach him to ride a bike by myself. Those are the times when I want the picture in the frame to show _everyone_ in the family—Mother, Father, and child."

"And did your father do all those things by himself?"

Jennifer paused and looked away. She could feel the lump developing in her throat, but she swallowed hard, forcing it back down.

"He did a lot of those things."

"And I seem to recall albums full of photos and miles of home movie film of a happy girl and her happy father, sharing the blessings of what appeared to be a happy life."

"It wasn't perfect, but it was happy. My father always put my needs ahead of his own."

"And I'm sure that caring, attentive mother you met at the pool today is doing the very same thing. And we'll do the same for LP—together. That's what families do. We're a family, Jennifer. You and me. From the moment I kissed you in that elevator, I knew there was no one else I wanted to share my life with."

Again, his words covered her body like a cozy blanket—comforting and familiar. Every sentiment expressed truth. The same truth captured inside a collection of framed photos that decorated their home with warmth and honesty.

"You know something…of all the special things about you, the most special thing about our marriage is that we talk. There aren't a lot of people that do that, you know."

"We do talk. And sometimes, it's hard to put your feelings into words."

"Sometimes, maybe it's better not to put your feeling into words." She brushed his hair back away from his forehead. "Just knowing you care. Knowing you're there for me. It's all I ever need."

He pulled her body close and his hands disappearing into the soft layers of her hair. They didn't speak but spent the next minute engaged in silent conversation. The words were there, but they hovered above them. Looking into his eyes, she could read his thoughts. They'd created a language all their own, in which they shared the deepest emotions though no sound fell from their lips. She took him by the hand, leading him back to the bed. They stood together for a moment, his arms upon her shoulders, lightly caressing her creamy skin. Though they'd spent two nights in the penthouse already, they hadn't made love. They'd savored the quiet moments in each other's arms instead, filled with soft words and tender touch. They'd connected in other ways. Gently washing each other's body in the outdoor shower. Reading excerpts of their beach novels aloud to one another. Napping together in the warm breeze on the lanai. Never in his life had Jonathan realized just how many ways two people could become one. With Jennifer, there were well over a thousand and one pleasures, and he couldn't wait to discover each and every one.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Hi Champ!_

 _Dad's Advice: Women love to be pampered. Make time for that._

 _Mommy is in the spa in the hotel adjacent to ours, so I thought I'd steal a few minutes and catch up with you. We're flying back home the day after tomorrow. I can't believe how quickly this week has flown by. We have been blessed with good weather (with the exception of yesterday), and I think this vacation was just what we needed. Though we've hardly spent a moment away from our suite, I have absolutely no regrets. We sleep late, read, take long showers, enjoy the ocean from the lanai. It's really given your mother and me a chance to reconnect and refocus with your arrival right around the corner. We're in the final lap now—the last trimester. In no time, I'll be talking to you instead of writing my thought down on random scraps of paper. Your mom still has no idea about these letters, though I almost slipped again the other night. I've got to watch that third drink. It really does something to me and I just can't seem to stop talking._

 _We'd planned a picnic on the beach for yesterday, but the rain kept us inside. Of course, curling up beside your mom all day is a picnic in itself. We divided our time between crossword puzzles and cable television. We watched a marathon of movies including one of your mother's favorite musicals: Funny Girl. Now I know why she has a thing for gamblers. She's been smitten with Nicky Arnstein since her youth._

 _Your mother spent a couple of hours working on an article for a very cosmopolitan magazine called The New Yorker. She actually finished it up this morning, but she won't let me see it. She wants me to wait and read it just like the rest of the world will_ — _in the March issue. We faxed it to your Aunt Patsy a little while ago and hopefully she'll be satisfied. I don't think she's ever been disappointed by anything your mom has penned to date. How anyone could be disappointed by anything involving your mother is beyond me. We'll be celebrating the completion of her piece on our beach outing when she's finished up at the spa. I have a little surprise planned for her but I'll have to make an excuse to go back to the suite first. It's nothing major, but something I know she'll appreciate. We're about three quarters of the way through "the list" and I'm hoping to finish up the few remaining items by tomorrow night._

 _Just twelve more weeks to go and you'll be here. I can't believe it. As the time of your birth grows closer, I can see the emotion that's growing inside your mother right along side you. There's more than just a physical representation of the changes that are taking place inside her. There's something more. Something inside her heart and behind those autumn eyes. I've watched her for a couple of weeks now—I could see it and feel it, but didn't really know exactly what it was until last night. We stayed up late, talking about children and families and overcoming obstacles and living with tragedy. As each day brings us closer to your arrival, your mother is experiencing some feelings she's never had before. And so am I. We want so much for everything in this life to be perfect for you. We feel so blessed to be living in what we feel is the perfect marriage—the most complete relationship either of us has ever known. And we want to give you all that we have. We want to give you all the love and support that brought us together and helped to create you. Your mother's heart has softened in new ways, making her aware of the depth of her own parents love and how much they sacrificed of themselves. They longed to give her so much yet protect from so much. It's a fine line. And now, as she thinks about you, she can't help but think about other children too. We both do. Children who will go without. Those that will not feel loving arms around them or will go to bed hungry. Children whose parents will tell them they love them only after inflicting wounds that may never heal. Children whose parents will bless them with every material gift imaginable except their time. It will be these thoughts, and many others like them that will cause us to cling tightly to you so that you will never know anything other than sheer joy._

 _God, you'd never know it by that last paragraph, but I promise I haven't been drinking. These words come from deep inside me, and while they may seem to ramble a bit with little or no cohesion, I assure you they are filled with honesty. You are the most important thing to us and you always will be._

 _I love you, Little Prince!_

XXXXXXXXXX

"Hello, Gorgeous!" Jonathan stood and kissed her cheek, speaking with his best Brooklyn accent.

"I'm sorry you had to wait. The salon was packed."

"I kept myself busy." He reached for a small shopping bag on the bench behind him.

"That's not another treat, is it?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"No. Just a couple of magazines and a new book for you, since you finished yours yesterday. I don't know if these clouds are gonna hang around or not." Jonathan looked up at the sky, unsure if they'd make their seaside outing.

"You picked out a book for me?"

"Yes." He nodded proudly.

"What'd you get?"

"Nope. Not now. Our picnic awaits and you're gonna have to guess."

"Is everything a game with you?" She gave him a playful look.

"Not everything." He nuzzled her ear.

They walked hand in hand back to their hotel, laughing and talking, but keeping a watchful eye on the skies overhead. The clouds continued to linger, growing greater in number. The wind had picked up a bit, bringing with it a slight chill. It was just before noon, and Jonathan had arranged a special basket of goodies to be waiting for them in their suite. He checked his watch, eager to get settled on the sand before rain would force them back inside for the second day in a row. _I better give Gordon a call. This may not work after all,_ he considered silently _._

Inside the lobby, they made their way toward the private elevator; her hand still in his. A woman called out to them from behind the registration desk just as Jonathan removed the key from his pocket.

"Mrs. Hart?"

"Yes?" Jennifer turned around.

"A fax came in for you. Would you like it now, or I can have it sent to your suite later."

She looked back at Jonathan in search of confirmation.

"Go see what Patsy wants. I'll grab our jackets and leave this." He held up the shopping bag from the newsstand.

"I'll be waiting right here." She leaned forward, kissing him lightly.

Jonathan made the short trip upstairs alone, his right hand inside his pocket. Gently, his fingers rubbed against the sterling silver heart he now carried everywhere. The doors opened, and he began dialing his cell phone as he stepped from the elevator. He dropped the bag on the kitchen counter beside the waiting picnic basket and walked briskly to their bedroom.

"Uh, hello. My name is Jonathan Hart. I'm trying to reach Gordon."

"I'm sorry. He's out. Should be back in a couple of hours." A woman's voice replied.

"Does he have a cell phone number I could reach him on?" Jonathan balanced the phone on his shoulder.

"Gordon never carries a phone when he's working."

"I understand. Alright, I'll try to reach him later. Mahalo."

"No problem."

Closing his cell phone, he slipped it back inside his pocket with a disappointed sigh. He turned, carrying their jackets into the kitchen. Giving the suite a quick once-over, he collected their things, certain that all was in order. As he waited for the elevator he suddenly remembered his surprise. He placed his items on the sofa and quickly jogged back to the bedroom. He returned in seconds with a familiar plaid blanket in his hand. The doors to the elevator opened and he stashed it quietly inside the basket.

They walked along a mostly deserted stretch of beach with hands intertwined. The water rolled across the sand in hurried, foamy waves as the wind continued to blow. Up above them, Jennifer spied a photographer, setting up for the perfect shot, despite the cloudy conditions. And not far from them, a young couple stood locked in an embrace near a black stretch of lava rock. For the most part, the beach was theirs for as long as the weather held out. Though it was cool, it was not unbearably so. Jonathan wrapped her up inside her jacket and the salty air on her face felt soothing.

After a moment of debate, they agreed on a spot to set up their afternoon lunch. Jonathan reached into the basket, removing the blanket with a smile.

"Where did you get that?" Jennifer asked, surprised.

"From my suitcase." He winked.

"You brought our blanket?"

"The ideal beach outing requires the ideal blanket… _and_ the ideal woman."

Jennifer felt a twinge of something in her heart, though she couldn't exactly define it. Just the feeling of everything in her world being right. Being true. Together they unfolded the blanket, placing it on the sand. Jonathan busied himself with the contents of the basket, while Jennifer took a moment to drink in the scenery. Even with a gray mist in the air, there was something serenely beautiful about being there with him, as if they existed inside a black and white photograph of their own. She watched as his strong hands carefully removing each item from the basket. The cuffs of his sweater kept his wrists hidden, though she could still see them and feel her lips on them, just as she'd kissed his fingertips and palms in the darkness of the suite the night before. As much as she loved to swim in the blue waves of his eyes, she longed to be touched by his hand. Never had such strength moved her with such tenderness. He caught her and she gave him a guilty smile.

"No staring. This is a public beach, you know."

"I'm not staring. I'm remembering."

"Remembering what?"

"One of the reasons I fell in love with you."

"There was more than one?" He teased.

"Lots more. I'm still counting."

"Well let me know if you need a calculator." He replied with a wink.

Jonathan popped open a bottle of sparkling white grape juice, toasting his wife and their unborn child. The sun played peek-a-boo every now and again from behind the clouds as he and Jennifer sat side by side, telling stories. They sampled a treasure of island delicacies, and it wasn't long before the air around them relaxed their bodies and quieted their thoughts. Lying together, they listened to the sounds of the ocean with Jennifer resting her head against Jonathan's arm. As much as she loved their playful and flirtatious conversation, the silent moments they shared were the ones she cherished most. Lying beside him, feeling his hands softly caressing her arm or her belly. These were the moments she lived for—moments that spoke volumes, yet not a single sound could be heard. She closed her eyes briefly, determined to capture time like a photograph inside her mind.

"Look at that."

Jennifer opened her eyes and looked up at him. He pointed down the beach, and she turned her head, following the direction of his hand. Dozens of bright red hibiscus flowers danced in the breeze before coming to bounce across the sand toward the surf. Jennifer glanced around with a curious eye.

"Where did those come from?" She asked, confused.

"I don't know. I just noticed them."

"They're beautiful."

"A flower for the lady coming right up." Speaking with a cocky accent, he stood and dusted the sand off his pants. He jogged toward the enormous blooms as the wind carrying them like brightly colored tumbleweeds across the beach. Jennifer stood and followed him, laughing and shaking her head as she watched Jonathan try his best to wrangle a flower for her. Every time he bent down to scoop one up, the wind seemed to pick up, blowing it just beyond his grasp. After several attempts, he turned back toward her. His hair was falling down across his forehead and he walked back in her direction with an enormous smile and a red hibiscus flower in hand. He presented the flower to her, breathing hard, but still smiling.

"Thank you, kind sir." She took the flower from him, tucking it behind her ear.

"You didn't think I could catch one, did you?" He continued to pant.

"I never doubted you. Not even for a minute."

"You're learning, Red."

They stood together for several moments. Again, the need for words disappeared. They didn't touch. They didn't kiss. And the anticipation of doing both created a longing in both of them they couldn't deny. Bending down, Jonathan picked up a stick, drawing a large heart in the sand around her.

"Don't move." He tossed the stick into the water and stood watching her.

"Jonathan, this is silly…" She glanced around with an embarrassed look, though she knew they were alone.

"I just want to look at the woman that will always be inside my heart."

"Oh my! Is that your best line?" She teased.

"I don't know. Is it working?" He stepped inside the heart and wrapped his arms around her.

"What do you think?" She brushed his hair back away from his forehead.

"I think," He looked into her eyes deeply before something broke his gaze and his concentration. "I think that our blanket is about to go out to sea." He pointed behind her.

Jennifer turned to see the wind whipping up underneath their favorite blanket; the picnic basket barely holding on to one corner. With her hand in his, they hurried back to their seaside love nest, resuming their spots and saving the treasured piece of plaid cloth. Jennifer ran a hand through her hair, realizing she'd lost her flower in their hasty return. She looked down the beach to see the red hibiscus bloom dancing across the heart before continuing its unpredictable path along the shore.

"There it goes." She spoke apologetically.

"It's okay."

He placed his hand lovingly on her belly. Again, his eyes focused on hers. The smile on his face disappeared when his lips found hers. He kissed her without reserve, losing himself in the moment. Jennifer's hands moved through the dark layers of his hair and she felt herself being pulled under by a heavy current. She could feel his breath inside her, warming her against the cool Pacific breeze. A light rain began to fall, but still his mouth explored hers. They lay together, neither wanting the moment to end. The rain increased and Jonathan pulled away. Raindrops slipped off his nose and splashed against her chin. His playful smile returned and he kissed her once more, only this time much softer. His hand against her cheek, he smiled again when he pulled away a second time.

"I never knew it could be like this. Nobody ever kissed me the way you do." She spoke with the breathy whisper of Deborah Kerr's character from the famous beach scene.

"Nobody?" His finger traced the line of her jaw.

"No, nobody."

"Not even one? Of all the men you've been kissed by?"

"Now that might take some figuring. How many men do you think there've been?"

"I don't know. Can't you give me a rough estimate?" He imitated Burt Lancaster's manly tone.

"Not without an adding machine. Do you have an adding machine?

"I thought you needed a calculator."

"I think we need a towel." She brushed a raindrop off his nose.

They were soaked to the bone by the time they made it back to the lobby of the hotel. Jennifer gladly accepted a small hand towel from the valet at the front door, wiping the rain from her face and shaking the water from her auburn hair. She gently sponged Jonathan's forehead as well before making their way to the elevator. As they crossed the lobby, they couldn't help but laugh as they caught site of their dripping forms in a large mirror.

Back in the suite, they left a trail of wet clothes from the bedroom to the bathroom. She shivered as she stepped into the large glass shower beside him. As had been customary during their stay, they took turns gently washing each other's hair and body, losing themselves in the simple pleasure of soap and water on one's skin. His hands moved through her hair and down her back The steam swirled around them and soon the chill that had followed her to the suite drifted away.

They stepped from the shower, wrapping themselves in matching robes before retreating to the king sized bed. The afternoon sky had become dark, as another heavy thunderstorm rained down on them.

"What would you like? Hot chocolate maybe?" He crossed the room to the desk, resting his hand on the phone.

"Hot chocolate would be fabulous. Not very beachy, but fabulous nonetheless."

He lifted the receiver and called down for Room Service.

"Yes, this is Jonathan Hart in Suite 402. Could we get a hot chocolate _with almond_ and an Irish coffee please?" He gave his wife a mischievous grin. "Oh sure, we'll take some of those too. Thank you."

"Some of what?" She asked, adjusting several pillows around her.

"Well, they just pulled a tray of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies from the oven. How could I say no?"

"You couldn't." She smiled.

They lay together quietly for several minutes, listening to the rain outside. Jennifer rested her head against his chest, fighting the urge to sleep. Being next to him relaxed her and she wanted to curl up in his arms and float away on sweet dreams. She didn't move when their drinks arrived—never even heard the knock. Jonathan gave her shoulder a light pat before slipping from the bed. With a yawn, she sat up and reached for the remote. She made a quick check of the offerings on the various movie channels, but found nothing worth watching. Jonathan returned carrying a tray and the small shopping bag he'd acquired early that day. He handed her an over-sized mug of steaming cocoa, complete with a marshmallow cloud on top. With a wink, he pulled a small paper cocktail umbrella from the pocket of his robe and dropped it in her mug.

"Here you go. Warm, chocolaty, _and_ beachy. And this came for you."

"What's this?" She asked, taking an envelope from him.

"I don't know. Another fax maybe?"

"Maybe." She flipped it over, breaking the seal and removing its contents.

"Well?" He took a sip of his coffee, then settled himself under the sheets.

"You were right. It's another fax."

"From Patsy?"

"Uh huh."

"What's it say?"

He took the paper from her hand, giving it a silent perusal, and finding himself utterly confused by the words on the page.

"These are just names. I don't get it."

"Not just any names."

"Well, they're all famous authors. Melville. Puzo. Salinger. Spillane. Dorothy Parker. Norman Mailer. What does this mean?" He reread the list, unsure of its meaning.

"This means," She took the paper back from him. "That _The New Yorker_ not only likes my piece, but they're submitting a plea for more."

"I'm still lost. What do Herman Melville and the others have to do with your article?"

"Well, I didn't write an article exactly. It was more of a letter."

"A letter?"

"An open letter. To Edith Wharton."

"Really? And whatever inspired you to write a letter to Ms. Wharton?" He smirked.

"My tall, dark, handsome muse."

"And now they want more? Open letters to great writers?"

"Just the ones that hail from the Big Apple?

"Evidently." She nodded.

"I guess you should start studying." Reaching inside the shopping bag, he removed the novel he'd purchased earlier. He handed her the book, along with a smile.

" _Portrait of a Lady._ " Jennifer inspected the cover.

"Henry James. Another of New York's finest authors."

"I've never read it."

"Neither have I. I only bought it because of the title."

"Really? Why?" She flipped the book over, checking out the back cover.

"Reminds me of someone I know." He set his coffee down on the bedside table before sliding over to her side of the bed.

"Are you trying to seduce me through famous works of literature? Edith Wharton…Henry James…"

"D.H. Lawrence." He winked.

Jennifer laughed out loud. "You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't what? Play Oliver to your Constance? My dear Lady Chatterley, I most certainly would."

"You just want to see me blush like a school girl."

He nuzzled her, burying his face in the strands of wet hair along her neck. He needed her, in both the most complex sense and the most simple. A walk on the beach. A kiss in the rain. A nap in the middle of the day. He wanted to possess her in so many ways—not just with his body. Again he spoke from a place deep within him. And though they weren't his words, they expressed the exact feelings that lay in the center of his soul.

 _"He thought of the woman. Now he would have given all he had or ever might have to hold her warm in his arms, both of them wrapped in one blanket, and sleep. All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed that sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity_." He quoted the famously risque novel in a tender whisper.

Jennifer studied his eyes. It was all she could do, as word and thought escaped her. He spoke in the most gentle and sincere of tones, lighting dozens of candles around the perimeter of her innermost room.

"D.H. Lawrence wrote about more than just sex." He smiled sweetly.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer opened her eyes, surprised to find subtle rays of sunshine outside the windows of the suite. Jonathan was still beside her, only wide awake and quietly reading a magazine. She was only able to steal a minute of observation before he caught her eyes.

"Hi there." He smiled.

"Hi." She whispered back in a sleepy tone.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Fine." She yawned.

"You know, you're going to have your days and nights all mixed up when we get back home."

"I know. If I'd remembered that damn pillow, I wouldn't be having this problem." She moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. "What are you reading?"

"Cosmo." He responded flatly.

"Cosmo?"

"Uh-huh."

"You're reading Cosmo?" She suppressed a giggle.

"They have some really great articles."

"Kinda like Playboy, huh?"

"No really. There's some very useful information in here. Especially about relationships. I'm learning a lot."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Scout's Honor."

Jennifer laughed. "And just what exactly possessed you to buy Cosmo?"

"I saw the cover and thought of you." He flipped the magazine over, showing her the cover.

 _"Make Him Want You. 101 Ways to Flirt."_ She read aloud.

"No, not that."

 _"Have You Had Sex On His Desk? Surprising Your Man at the Office."_

"No! Here." He pointed to a line in pink print at the bottom of the cover, just below the waist of a sexy supermodel.

 _"Are You With Your True Soul Mate? Is He The One? Take the Quiz."_ She couldn't help but laugh.

"It's the Valentine issue. Hello?!"

"You can't be serious."

He flipped the magazine open, clearing his throat with an air of drama.

"Number One…" He grinned.

"Oh Jonathan!"

"C'mon. Just humor me. I wanna see if I'm The Guy."

"If you don't know the answer to that by now." She rolled her eyes.

"Number One…" He repeated.

They sat side-by-side in the king-sized bed as Jonathan read each and every quiz question allowed. He wouldn't let Jennifer see the magazine, and she was certain he was making most of the questions up himself. Everything from his bad habits to what they preferred in bed. Jennifer could barely stop laughing long enough to answer. He did make everything a game—one she never grew tired of playing.

"Just give me a minute to tally up the score." He announced at the end, flipping to the back the magazine in search of the results.

"I already know the score." She pulled the magazine from his grasp, tossing it on the floor at the end of the bed.

"Hey, wait a minute!"

"Now let's discuss that desk of yours." She walked her fingers across his chest. "Is it walnut or mahogany?"

XXXXXXXXXX

"Darling, the car is downstairs. Are you ready?" He hollered from the kitchen.

"Be right there." She called back from the bedroom.

Jonathan looked around the suite in search of the elevator key. Checking the pocket of his jacket, he located it, along with the business card for one Gordon Nash. He checked his watch. Six-thirty. _Guess I'll try him again in the morning_ , he thought with a smile. They had reservations for seven, and he didn't want to be late. This would be their last dinner out, as he'd arranged another visit with the private chef for the following evening—their final night before boarding the plane back to Los Angeles. Though the rain had cut their picnic short, it had been one of the best days of his life. A day of enjoying more of life's simple yet delectable pleasures. A good meal. A hot shower. A peaceful nap. And making love to the most beautiful woman in the world. _And it's still only six-thirty_ , he smiled to himself.

"You got the key?" She asked.

"We could order in. A little surf and turf in bed?"

"We've been in bed all afternoon." She gave him a look.

"Exactly. If it ain't broke..."

"You are incorrigible." She took his hand and pulled him toward the elevator.

"And you love it."

They rode down in silence; his hand protectively on her lower back. As the elevator doors opened, they were surprised by the larger than usual crowd assembled in the lobby. The rain had moved on, and the teasing rays of sunshine seemed to coax many from their suites. They'd only just stepped from the elevator when Jonathan's phone rang. He shook his head with angst as he reached into his pocket.

"Hello?" He answered.

"It's me, Mr. H."

"Max, is everything okay? It's late. Are you alright?"

Jennifer could not only hear the alarm in his voice, she could see it on his face. She tried her best to decipher the call, but being privy to only one side of the conversation made it difficult. After a minute, Jonathan said his goodbyes and returned the phone to his pocket.

"Is Max alright?"

"Max is fine. It's Alan Fournier. He's called the house three times."

"Is there a crisis of some sort?"

"Apparently." Jonathan glanced around, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

"What can I do?" She asked.

"Listen, I need to call Alan back. I'll go back up the suite, get the number and get this taken care of." Jonathan spoke precisely, with the authority of a military leader.

"Aye, aye Captain." She saluted him with a smile.

He turned and walked with quick steps back to the elevator. In seconds, he was gone, blowing a kiss to her just as the doors closed. Jennifer continued on toward the main doors. She spoke with the valet, requesting delivery of their rental car. Alone at the entrance of the hotel, she kept a watchful eye turned toward the elevators _._ The clouds had moved on, and the air outside was much warmer than when their rain soaked bodies entered a few hours before. She smiled and nodded at the couples and families going in and out of the hotel. Looking down at her watch, she wondered if their table would still be available. She felt a hand on her arm, and turned around.

"Hello again." A woman's voice spoke with a warm tone.

"Oh hello." Jennifer smiled, instantly recognizing the woman from the pool. "How are you?"

"Fine. On our way out to dinner. It's our last night." She said with hint of sadness.

"It always goes by too fast, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does." She nodded in agreement.

"Where's your little swimmer?"

"He's on his way. He went to Children's Hour in the Play Zone. They have the most fantastic children's area here. Very sweet and helpful attendants. Adrian begs to play with them everyday. I think they've had more quality time with him than I have."

"Sounds like fun."

"They'll be bringing him to me any minute. Are you on your way in or out?"

"Out. Just waiting on my husband. An unexpected business call. He should be here any minute too."

"Are you staying through the weekend?" She asked.

"No. We're leaving the day after tomorrow."

"Back to DC?"

"No, we live in Los Angeles."

Across the lobby, Jonathan stepped from the elevator; an exasperated look on his face. _When I get back, Alan and I will have a chat on what constitutes a true emergency_. He was angry at being delayed for what he now knew was nothing. Keeping work and play as distant as church and state was a high priority—especially when he and Jennifer were on vacation. He never liked to keep his lady waiting. He could see her through the glass doors, having what appeared to be a very animated conversation with a woman. Just seeing her there helped him take a deep breath. He was determined not to let anything spoil their evening. He strolled casually across the lobby then stopped. He stepped behind a large palm plant, stealing a few moments to spy on his wife. Actually, he just spied on her hands. He was captivated by them. There were days when it was all about her hair. Or her eyes. Or her smile. But at that moment, it was about her hands. They were soft and elegant. It was the way she gestured when telling a story. Her hands created a story within a story. He could still see her fingers walking seductively up his chest before disappearing inside his robe. He watched her expressions as she listened to the woman standing before her. Everything about her was focused, and it was one of the things he loved most about her. She was an incredible listener. Her eyes were caring and her posture, attentive. She listened with genuine interest, never thinking ahead to what she planned to contribute to the conversation, as most people do. Jennifer was sincere. And as he watched her closely, he found himself overcome with pride.

When he couldn't stand to be away from her another minute, he stepped from behind the plant and headed toward the glass doors. Jennifer glanced in his direction and smiled, trying her best to remain discreet as she listened to her new acquaintance. She could read his look, and she tried not to laugh. _Oh he's staring, alright_. He was just steps away when he heard Jennifer announce his presence.

"I don't believe you've met my husband." Jennifer gestured proudly in Jonathan's direction.

The woman turned around, locking eyes with him.

"Nikki?" The satisfied look vanished from Jonathan's face, instantly replaced with one of shock.

 **Cue more music.**

 **Time for your review.**


	20. Chapter 20

Several seconds of silence lapsed before Nikki whispered his name in recognition. Jennifer stood dumbfounded, stunned as Fate reintroduced them. She watched her husband's eyes as he mentally processed their surprise reunion.

"How are you?" He smiled, embracing her with a welcoming hug.

"Oh it's so good to see you!" She returned his affections with a light kiss on both cheeks.

"It's been forever."

"Too long." She added.

"You look great! What on earth are you doing here on Maui?" Jonathan asked.

"Just needed a vacation. And Adrien loves the ocean, so here we are."

"Adrien?" He looked at Jennifer, trying to recall where he'd heard that name.

"My son."

"Right! I heard something about the two of you and a water gun fight at the pool the other day. Only we had no idea…" He traded a confused look with his wife. "Oh I'm sorry. Forgive me. Darling, this is Nikki. Nikki Stephanos."

 _And the plot thickens,_ Jennifer thought before responding.

"Hi, I'm Jennifer, your poolside confidant and official Frisbee retriever." She held out her hand to Nikki.

"Well isn't this something?" Nikki shook Jennifer's hand warmly. "Walt Disney was right. It is a small world after all."

"Yes it is." She nodded in agreement.

"Mommy!" A little voice called out and they turned their heads to see the young dark haired boy tearing through the doors.

"Hello my angel!" Nikki bent down and scooped the boy up in her arms. "Did you have fun?"

"Oui." He nodded warily, eyeing the stranger beside them.

"Adrien, I want to introduce you to a very old and dear friend of Mommy's. This is Jonathan." Nikki smiled.

"How ya doin' Champ?" Jonathan extended his hand, but the boy turned away, snuggling against his mother.

"And you remember the beautiful woman we saw at the pool? This is his wife, Jennifer."

Adrien shyly regarded Jennifer.

"I certainly remember you. You are one terrific swimmer." Jennifer shared a sweet smile.

Nikki's gaze bounced uncomfortably between the two of them for a moment before she spoke.

"I haven't had a chance to congratulate you." She pointed to Jennifer's pregnant belly. "You're having a boy, right?"

"Yes we are. Around Easter." Jonathan smiled proudly, while Jennifer's mind raced back in time to a conversation overhead in a bathroom stall in the Four Seasons Hotel.

"I know you must be thrilled. It truly is a blessing."

"We're very excited." Jonathan added.

"Listen, I know you two are on your way to dinner, and I don't want to keep you, but Jonathan, I must know. How is Max?"

"He's fine. He suffered a brain aneurysm last year, but has made an amazing recovery. He's actually doing quite well, despite all he's been through."

"Oh I'm so sorry to hear that." She shook her head sympathetically. "Dear, sweet Max. He's one tough cookie."

"That he is." He nodded in agreement.

"Please give him my love." She paused, focusing firmly Jonathan's eyes. "I think about the two of you a lot."

Jonathan smiled and nodded again, waiting for the grandest of awkward moments to disappear while he searched for a meaningful yet lighthearted response. They stood together, just three smiling faces with nothing to say. _I'm sure we left ex-girlfriends off the list_.

"Jennifer, it's so nice to meet you. Officially. I wish you all the best in the birth of your little handful." She offered her hand again, shifting her weight slightly as she held the small boy in her arms.

"Why don't you and Adrien join us for dinner? You and Jonathan haven't seen each other in such a long time. I hardly think a two minute conversation at the valet stand fits the bill." Jennifer responded; her husband shooting her a look of surprise laced with opposition.

"Well, I…uh…" Nikki faltered, turning her eyes back toward Jonathan.

"That is if you don't have other plans." Jennifer pictured her dark haired, frustrated friend from the pool.

"Well, I promised Adrien fire dancers and a luau before we left."

"You're not having dinner at The Royal by chance?" Jennifer asked.

"Our exact destination, as a matter of fact." Nikki confirmed.

"Ours too." She smiled at her husband. "And we better hurry. I think we've already missed the seven o'clock seating."

Jonathan shifted the car forcibly into gear, taking the corners tightly. Though normally a cautious driver, the scene at the entrance of the hotel caused his mind to race, allowing his foot to grow heavy on the accelerator. They hadn't spoken a word since departing, and he wondered if Jennifer would be the first to break their silence. He'd insisted Nikki and Adrien follow them, refusing the offer of her limousine. With his wife quietly beside him, he maneuvered the rental car along the picturesque drive up the north side of the island. He eyed the black limousine in the rear view mirror wondering what thoughts might be traveling through the mind of his former lover as she followed behind them. He glanced in Jennifer's direction, trying his best to get a handle on hers. _What was she thinking? I'm all for polite and cordial, but this is taking courtesy beyond my comfort zone._

"Counsel requests permission to speak." He announced.

"Permission granted." She responded with a business-like tone.

"Let the record show that I had absolutely nothing to do with the selection of additional dinner guests."

"Am I to understand you're representing yourself in the case, Sir?"

"I am, Your Honor."

"Proceed." She nodded firmly.

"I would like to submit Exhibit A…" He reached inside the inner pocket of his jacket, producing a small scrap of paper.

"Ah yes. Exhibit A." She took the paper from his hand and studied it with a thoughtful eye.

"If it pleases the court, your Excellency, I would also like to point out that no where on The List is there mention of any activities involving former lovers, bed partners, or old flames of any kind."

"Do you have any further submissions or arguments at this time?" She asked.

"Nothing further, Your Honor."

"Well Counselor, in light of this evidence, I feel it is my duty to render a ruling." She folded the pieced of paper and held it out to him. "Not guilty."

"Well someone in this car is guilty. And if it's not me…" He gave her a look.

"Ah Darling don't be mad." She pleaded.

"I'm not mad. I'm just surprised."

"Why? Because your wife asked your ex-girlfriend to join us for dinner?"

"Ya think?"

"I would have invited them whether you had a past with her or not. She's delightful. And Adrien is precious. I would really enjoy getting to know her."

"You can't be serious."

"I've never been more serious in my life."

He didn't respond, but continued to drive aggressively. Watching him from the corner of her eye, she could see the apprehension. After a couple of minutes of silence, she reached out, placing her hand on his atop the gearshift.

"Look, Jonathan, I firmly believe there's a reason for everything. You know that. Remember Fate? Remember him? He follows us everywhere." Her autumn eyes reflected nothing but sincerity as she spoke, but he made no reply. "Nikki and her father were an important part of your life. You sat together on his death bed. You stood by her during a very difficult and emotionally draining time. She lost her father and the father of her child. I think the least we can do is take the woman to dinner."

It was after seven when they arrived at The Royal. The Hawaiian sun had gone to bed, and the luau was in full swing. Bursts of applause, toasts and laughter from many diners around them filled the atmosphere with a carnival like quality. Jonathan couldn't help but smile as he watched the wonder in Adrien's eyes. The young boy absorbed their surroundings with a look of awe.

A native beauty, young and cheerful, escorted them to their table. Jonathan ordered their drinks, while the ladies guided Adrien through the buffet line. Looking around, he considered the odds of the many bets he could have placed that day. A walk on the beach? Three to one. An afternoon nap? Two to one. Being intimate with his wife? A sure thing. Dinner with Nikki Stephanos? No way in hell.

Their waiter arrived and he quickly downed a Scotch and soda, motioning for a refill before the return of his dinner companions. He could see the two women who'd be sharing his table, talking and gesturing in a friendly manner. He focused his eyes on Jennifer—her smile bright and engaging. Quickly he glanced around with a self-assured smirk _. No sign of a horse anywhere, so no chance of a getaway._ A minute later, he watched as they made their way back to the table. Jennifer led Adrien by the hand while Nikki balanced two plates in hers, weaving through the crowd. Seeing his pregnant wife and his ex-lover smiling upon approach, only one thought crossed his mind. _Survey says: two drink minimum._

He stood, pulling out chairs for each of them. Once settled, he headed out in search of his own dinner, though he didn't have much of an appetite. But the time he returned, he found Jennifer and Nikki engrossed in the same type of animated conversation he'd witnessed from behind the fronds of a large palm in the lobby of the hotel. A conversation entirely in French. With a sigh, he took his place beside his wife and across from Nikki, giving Adrien a friendly wink.

"Uh Ladies, not everyone at the table is fluent. Could we keep it in English, por favor?"

"Sorry, Darling."

"I was just telling Jennifer about the time the paparazzi chased us out of that hotel in Madrid. What was the name of it? The old palace in Chamberi?" Nikki looked up at Jonathan, snapping her fingers several times in an attempt to jog her memory.

"It wouldn't have been the Santo Mauro, would it?" Jennifer asked.

"Oh my God! Yes! The Santo Mauro." Nikki's eyes shined.

"Oh I love that hotel."

"Me too! The history…the architecture!"

"It's phenomenal." Jennifer added.

"French neoclassical at it's finest." Nikki raised her glass.

"I couldn't agree more."

Jonathan sat, fork in hand, completely flabbergasted as he watched the two women carry on like the best of friends. Before he could speak their discussion of the historic boutique hotel turned into a dialogue on French antiques, which then morphed into a debate on the renowned works of European artists. And without realizing it, they fell back into a conversation in French tongue. _Is it gonna be like this all through dinner?_ He turned his attention to the curly haired boy, quietly sitting across from him.

"Young man, I'm afraid we're in for a long night." He winked again, reaching for his second Scotch and soda.

Stories and laughter continued to flow throughout dinner as they emptied their plates and refilled their glasses. Conversation danced around the table and he couldn't remember when he'd had a more enjoyable evening. Jennifer and Nikki found delight in discussing everything from childbirth to Greek philosophy, while Jonathan entertained Adrien with origami and magic tricks involving cocktail napkins and pocket change. Observing the amusement on the boy's face filled his heart and he couldn't stop thinking about the tiny life growing inside the woman beside him. _Jennifer was right. His laughter is a symphony of happiness._

Just as the waiter cleared their dishes away, the lights around them dimmed. A drumbeat sounded in a steady, tribal rhythm, and suddenly their faces were illuminated by flaming torches. Watching the young boy's face, Jonathan could see the excitement and curiosity building behind his blue eyes. Shifting in his seat, Adrien tried to gain a better vantage point, unable to see the Hawaiian fire dancers over the crowd. Jennifer noticed his distress, and looked empathetically to her husband. With a smile, she placed her napkin on the table and stood, walking to Adrien's side of the table.

"Why don't we sneak up and get a closer look at those dancers?" She leaned over and whispered, glancing in Nikki's direction in search of a permissive nod.

"It's fine with me." She smiled at Jennifer.

His hand in hers, Adrien followed alongside his new friend as they made their way toward the action, leaving Jonathan and Nikki alone. He watched as his wife disappeared in the crowd before turning his face back to his old friend.

"You have one special little guy there."

"He's an angel—my saving grace. And proof that God doesn't make mistakes even when humans do."

"You're a wonderful mother, Nikki. I mean it. Really wonderful."

"He makes it easy. I don't know what I'd do without Adrien. He was my light during a very dark time. I only wish my father…" She paused, nervously pushing her straw around the rim of her glass.

"Oh he's watching. I can promise you that." He reached out, giving her a gentle, supportive pat on the hand.

"Speaking of special," She changed the subject, and Jonathan couldn't help but smile. Nikki held his eyes, giving him a knowing smile in return.

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"Obvious?" She laughed out loud. "You're completely transparent. I'm sure you've lost your knack for poker now too."

"Max says the same thing." He winked.

"You know, I used to think that the woman that finally landed you would be the luckiest person in the world. Now, I think I have to change my answer. You're the lucky one this time. She's amazing, Jonathan. An absolutely beautiful person, inside and out."

"Well you'll get no argument from me."

"I bet it was a ton of bricks moment for you, wasn't it?"

"Ton of bricks?"

"When you met her. It was probably something so unexpected—but it hit you like a ton of bricks."

Jonathan smiled with a guilty expression, taking another sip of his Scotch.

"I'm guessing it was some random encounter like in the Pro Shop at the golf course, or maybe you were just waiting in line at the DMV, getting your license renewed…"

"It was an elevator. At the hospital. During Max's ordeal with the aneurysm."

"Love in an elevator?"

"Sounds like a rock song, right?"

"I don't know what it sounds like, but it looks like forever." She paused a moment as she studied his eyes. "You're blissful. You're smitten. You're ruined."

"Guilty. Guilty. And guilty."

"Well you deserve it all." Nikki nodded her head. "Every drop of happiness. The world owes you."

"The world owes me nothing. I've been given everything— _everything_. It's I that am indebted to the world."

"I always wondered what true happiness would look like in those blue eyes of yours." She reached out and held his hand across the table. "It looks damn good."

"It feels pretty damn good too." He gave her hand a friendly squeeze.

They sat holding hands for a minute, smiling in unspoken conversation between two old friends. Jonathan knew they were alone; not even a hint of jealousy or regret between them. They'd moved on. A task often easier said than done. He could see that she was genuinely happy for him, and he silently thanked her for the blessing of their friendship.

She gave his hand another squeeze before releasing it. Reaching into her purse, she retrieved a long, thin cigarette, along with an engraved Zippo bearing the Stephanos family symbol—a crown. Always the gentleman, Jonathan took it from her and lit her cigarette. He examined the lighter carefully and as he did, his thoughts traveled back to a large house on the Mediterranean shore.

"You really need to give it up, you know."

"I know, I know. But smoking's the only real vice I've got left."

"I can still see the way your father would flip this lighter open. God, that man must've smoked two packs a day."

"Yep. He loved his Leaders."

"No, he loved his Next. Next Red Twenty-Fives." He corrected her with a grin.

"And you would know that because?"

"Because I might've smoked a couple of them with him from time to time."

"Do as I say, not as I do?" She took a long drag.

"Something likes that." He smiled.

Another quiet moment passed, and Jonathan decided it was time to put all kidding aside.

"Your father was a good man. I loved him very much, Nikki." He returned the lighter to her.

"I know you did. And he loved you too. You were just another one of his boys."

"I only hope that I will be the kind of father to my child that your father was to all of you."

"Oh Jonathan, you will be everything my father was and so much more."

"You know, there are times when something will happen during a meeting or a business deal and I think to myself, _I wonder what the old man would do._ He always made the right decisions, no matter what. He knew exactly what to do in every situation."

"Not every situation. When he lost my mother, I thought for sure we lost him too. We lost him for a long time after that. But thankfully, with a lot of persistence and prayer, he found his way back to us."

"I know he loved your mother very much. Even though I never had a chance to meet her, I felt like I knew her just by the stories he used to tell of her. Talk about blissful, smitten, and ruined." He smiled again.

"They were crazy in love until the day she died." Nikki nodded.

"Their story reminds me a lot of Jennifer's mother and father. She lost her mother when she was eleven, and it's taken her father numerous years and an undisclosed amount of vodka to recover."

"Some people drink their way to happiness, some people smoke their way." She casually blew a thin line of smoke over her right shoulder.

"Surely you need more than just a regular tobacco fix."

"Well, having a four year old on your heels is a definite reality check."

"You know, I can see why people think Adrien is mine. Those eyes of his…"

"The exact same shade of blue." She agreed.

"But the hair and skin and the shape of his face. There's no doubt who his father is."

"By genetics only." She took another drag on her cigarette.

"So Adrien doesn't see his father?"

"He's never seen Dimi. And he never will."

"Oh c'mon, Nik. Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I didn't think so for a long time. But I do now. Adrien has everything he needs. Don't forget all those uncles of his. They dote on him like you can't imagine."

"Where's Dimitri now? Do you know?"

"Somewhere in Europe probably doing one of the two things he enjoys most. Mounting some hostile takeover or some young girl. He's quite the gardener too, you know.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Adrien's not the only seed he's planted. He has two other children. Twins. Just about eighteen months younger than Adrien."

"And no relationship with them either?"

"None. He doesn't want relationships. He's only interested in one thing. He thought by getting a piece of me, he'd get a piece of my father. But he soon realized that was never going to happen. The Stephanos Empire will always be controlled by a Stephanos. I thought initially he'd try to use Adrien as a bargaining chip, but I was wrong." She spoke with a cool and composed tone.

"And what about Nikki? How's she dealing with all this? Being a single mother is never easy, even with The Empire backing you up."

"Honestly? I wish The Empire would back off a little."

"Five boys and only one girl? You know that's never going to happen."

"But Little Sister is all-grown up now. I can carry the ball by myself."

"I know you can. But they love you and want to protect you, that's all."

"They love me and want to control me."

"Nik, that's not fair, and you know it."

"They even sent a babysitter along. I can't even take my son on vacation alone."

"Jennifer mentioned some guy at the pool. Who is he?"

"Some _Security Specialist_ that my brothers hired. That's a fancy title for goon."

"Is it really that bad? Honestly?" He gave her a serious look.

"Okay, it's not _that_ bad. But playing the Heiress-in-Distress is quite becoming, don't you think?" She swept her dark hair back off her shoulder dramatically.

"I've never known you to be truly distressed. And rarely have I seen you play the Heiress card."

"That's because I used to run around with a brave knight who fought for my honor on a number of occasions." She winked.

"Who are you running with now? Or are you just running?" His voice became more serious.

"I've stopped running. I'm happy just walking beside my son and seeing the world through those beautiful eyes."

"And what will you tell Adrien? About his father, I mean. Because he's going to want to know." He spoke to her with the voice of experience.

"I've told him all about his father. That brave, handsome knight with the same color eyes who rescued Mommy many, many times."

"And when he wants to know the truth?" He gave her a hard stare.

"He'll never want to know the truth. The fairy tale is so much more fun." She dropped her cigarette into his glass with a mischievous grin.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer followed the limousine back to the hotel. Jonathan leaned back against the headrest in the passenger seat, silently cursing himself for that last drink. She could tell from his expression that despite the pounding inside his head, he'd had a wonderful evening. As she cruised along the dark, winding roads, she couldn't help but smile. Watching Jonathan's interactions with Adrien had been the best part of her night. He'd made pennies disappear and nickels move through the table. He'd created tiny white cranes from cocktail napkins. He'd shared silly stories of Freeway and Max. It didn't matter what he did, Jonathan could captivate an audience regardless of age. And on their way out to the car, he'd carried the young boy up on his shoulders, as their collective laughter filled the air.

"You're something, you know that?" Jennifer reached for his hand, giving it a loving squeeze.

"I'm not about to get a lecture on holding one's liquor, am I?" He asked.

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm talking about you and Adrien."

"He's a great kid."

"And you were great with him tonight. He was fascinated by you."

"All kids love magic tricks."

"But it wasn't just that. He listened to every word you said with complete concentration."

"So I picked up a few storytelling tricks from Max."

"Jonathan, you're going to be a fantastic father." She squeezed his hand again.

"As long as you're beside me," He squeezed her hand in return. "I can do anything."

They rode the rest of the way in silence, her hand still firmly in his. She pulled the car up behind the limousine at the main entrance of their hotel just as Nikki and Adrien emerged from the back. Jonathan exited the car, quickly jogging around to the driver's side to assist his wife. With a toss of the keys to the valet, the foursome made their way across the lobby. As he reached for the elevator key, Nikki caught his arm.

"I can't tell you what this night has meant to me. And Adrien. I don't know how to thank you both." She turned with a gracious smile to Jennifer.

"No thanks are necessary. It was wonderful evening and we truly enjoyed every minute." Jennifer returned her smile.

"You have a great little guy there, Mom." Jonathan held his hand out to the boy. Adrien smiled then gave him a friendly slap.

"We're leaving for New York first thing in the morning, so we probably won't see you again." Nikki paused a moment, trying to hold in the tears beginning to form in her eyes. "Seeing the two of you together—the love and respect you have for each other. It's renewed a dream in me that I thought died long ago. And this little man," She placed a gentle hand on Jennifer. "what a lucky little boy to have such loving, caring parents." She reached and took each of them by the hand. "I wish you all the happiness in the world."

Jennifer shared a warm embrace with Nikki, feeling tears building in her own eyes. As she pulled away, Nikki looked up at Jonathan. Tears were now visible on her cheeks.

"Well Jonathan, this is the part where the ex-girlfriend tells you that you let the right woman get away. But not this time." She hugged him tightly, whispering softly in his ear. "Take good care of them. They're your greatest treasure, you know."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer adjusted the mountain of pillows around her pregnant body, while Jonathan stood in the bathroom brushing his teeth. She reached across the bed for the Cosmo magazine on his nightstand with a smile. Reading the cover once more, she laughed quietly and shook her head, thinking back to the quiz and his playful nature. Flipping through the pages, she decided it was her turn to have a little fun. Though dinner with Nikki had been carefree and pleasant, she knew that Jonathan's silence upon returning to their suite had his mind racing with more than just the left-over effects of Scotch.

He flipped off the bathroom light and walked across the bedroom. Slowly, he pulled the sheets back and settled in beside her. She made no response, and continued reading quietly.

"Now _you're_ reading Cosmo?"

"Um-hum." She nodded.

"A tough journalist like you?" He kidded.

"They have some really great articles in here. Very useful information." She tried not to smile.

"Such as?" He closed his eyes, resting his head on her pillow.

"Well, I've been reading a fascinating article called _She Wants Him Back: How to Keep His Ex at Bay._ "

"You're not serious." He yawned.

"And before that, I skimmed one called _How To Compete with a Greek Heiress._

"Jennifer?" He opened his eyes, giving her a hard stare.

"And then there was this other one," She flipped back through the pages. "Oh yes, here it is. _How Do You Stack Up? Compare Your Cleavage With That Of His Old Flame._

"Your cleavage," He pulled the magazine from her grasp, returning it to his nightstand. "is perfect."

"But we won't know for sure until we read the article." She looked into his eyes with a playful grin.

"Actually, I'm what you might call a _hands-on learner_." He slipped his hands under the light blue pajama top she wore.

"Jonathan, are you alright? You've been awfully quiet since we left The Royal."

"I've just had a lot of thoughts running through my mind." He gently ran his finger around the edge of her protruding belly button.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Remember the other night? When you came in from the pool and you couldn't stop thinking about Nikki and Adrien? That's kind of where I'm at. Now I see what you were talking about. That little boy is so wonderful. And so is Nikki. I just hate to think about that sonuvabitch running away from them. He has no idea what he's missing out on."

"No, I don't believe he does." She answered.

"I know that Adrien will be given the best of everything. But a father? Even the best uncles can't take the place of a real father." Jonathan thought about his love for Max, yet he still longed for the man in the photo. A tall, happy man with love in his eyes, frozen in time.

"You know, a wise man once told me that there are all kinds of families. And hopefully, that remarkable woman and that precious little boy will continue to have a happy life together."

"So now that you've spent an entire evening with her, what do you think of Nikki?" He asked, changing the subject slightly.

"I think she's incredible. It's easy to see why she was so special to you. She's smart and funny and kind."

"And beautiful." He added, eager to see what she'd make of his comment.

"Yes, she's very pretty." Jennifer nodded her head in agreement.

"She's also a fabulous kisser, if I remember correctly."

"Is she?" Jennifer played along, knowing he was trying to agitate her.

"The things that woman could do with her lips." He looked away in quiet reflection, trying his best to conceal a smile.

"That's just how it was with me and Gustavo." Jennifer sighed heavily.

"Gustavo? Who the hell's Gustavo?" His head quickly snapped back in her direction.

"An Argentinean polo player I knew way back when." She sighed again. "Not a lot upstairs, but he was drop dead gorgeous. And a great kisser."

"You never mentioned a _Gustavo_ before."

"But now that I think about it, his lips were no contest against Elliot. Oh, now that man could bench press two hundred pounds with his tongue alone."

"Really?" He sat upright, moving closer to her.

"He was a scoundrel for the most part, but when his lips touched mine…" She stared off with a dreamy look.

"He was that good?"

"He was that good." She nodded firmly.

"But I'm better, right?"

"Well, to be honest…" She shook her head.

"I'm better. And I can prove it." He grinned, realizing his little trick had backfired.

Jennifer leaned in toward him, eager to taste his kiss, but he turned away from her. He grabbed the magazine and turned back with a smile.

"There's a kissing quiz in here and I'll show you just how great a kisser I am." He thumbed quickly through the pages.

"Oh Darling, I was just kidding. Of course you're the better kisser. You're the better everything."

"Nope. I'm gonna prove that my lips reign supreme. Now you ask and I'll answer." He handed the magazine to her.

"This is stupid." She reluctantly took it from him.

"Number One." He pointed, encouraging her to proceed with a firm nod.

Jennifer conceded, giving in to the silliness of the quiz. Though she tried hard, her gift of embellishment paled in comparison with Jonathan's and she was forced to read the quiz as printed. After several minutes and an immeasurable amount of laughter, she totaled up his score.

"Well that's it. Time to see just how dangerous those lips of yours are." She turned several pages and began to mentally tally his score. After several moments, she read the verdict silently, but could not contain her laughter.

"What?" He asked.

"I'll never underestimate the power of Cosmo again. They hit you dead-on with this one."

"Are you gonna read it to me or what?"

"You scored a forty-five. That makes you a _Cunning Kisser_."

"A _Cunning_ Kisser?"

"Yep. That's you." She giggled.

"What does it say?"

Jennifer cleared her throat noisily then read the summary aloud.

 _"The Cunning Kisser is mischievous and naughty. You're a frisky lover who enjoys being a prankster. You're definitely romantic, but lean toward the impish side of passion. Despite the fun-and-games, you are caring and sensitive and always concerned about your partner's needs. You long to run your fingers through your partner's hair, creating a combination of sensual pleasure that balances on the edge of being out of control. You love to experiment, showering your lover with a variation of delicious kisses. Your repertoire is vast, and your lips are willing to try anything once. Your kisses run the gamut from hot and heavy to light and luscious—and you're a pro at all of them. All work and no play makes Jack a dull kisser. Being spontaneous excites you, and you're not shy about performing in public. You look for a partner who secretly aspires to be just as ambitious as you, but still maintains control. Someone has got to be the voice of sexual reason when in public, because it certainly won't be you. You are, without a doubt, the most versatile kisser in the bunch. Legions of past lovers have your name at the top of their list for best kissing experience. Pucker up, Baby! They're lining up for a taste of your cunning chops"._

"Well I could have told you that." He grinned.

"Why tell when you can show?" Her hand found his chest.

"Wait a minute." He touched her hand, stopping her advance. "Before we get carried away, there something I want to say." The fun-loving tone of his voice was replaced with a more serious one.

"Okay." She nodded warily, unsure of where the conversation was headed.

"When I made it back down to the lobby, after making the call to Alan, I saw you through the glass doors. I could see that you were chatting with a woman, but I didn't recognize her. In fact, I wasn't even looking at her. I was looking at you."

"Oh Jonathan, really, you don't need to—" She shook her head in protest, afraid he was trying to comfort any hidden jealous feelings.

"Please, let me finish." He insisted, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I'm sorry."

"I hid behind this palm in the lobby near the entrance and watched you for a couple of minutes. I was completely mesmerized by your hands." He looked down at her hand, tucked comfortably in his. "The way your hands tell a story. The way your fingers move as you gesture. It's like Tinkerbell sprinkling her fairy dust." He paused, gently rubbing his thumb across hers. "You create a story within a story. And the more I watched you and studied your expression, and the way you hold yourself when you listen…well, I was captivated by you. Seeing you there, it was like seeing you for the first time." He looked into her eyes, sharing the sweetest of smiles. "I didn't think I could be more proud of you than I was at that moment. But I was wrong."

"I'm not sure what you mean." The uncertainty in her voice was apparent.

"I mean tonight. Dinner. Nikki. You were gracious and thoughtful and engaging. I never thought having dinner with my wife and my ex would be something I'd describe as enjoyable, or something I'd ever experience for that matter. But that's exactly what tonight was. It was wonderful. And it was all because of you."

"Now it wasn't just me..." She began to argue.

"No, it was you. It's always you. And I've never been more proud of you. Proud to show the world how lucky I am to be in your life. Your grace, your elegance, and your class. They're by far the most attractive things about you. And watching the way you interact with people—from my ex-girlfriend and her son to the wait staff at The Royal to the guys at the valet stand. You're just as Nikki described, beautiful inside and out. I'm not the only one who sees you that way. And I don't know how it happens, but everyday I fall more in love with you."

"I don't know what to say." She felt her heart beating rapidly. Looking into his eyes, she could feel herself floating away, as the gentle waves of his words carried her out on a calm, peaceful sea.

"You don't have to say anything. Just know that I love you. I love you so very much."

"I love you too. More than I could ever put into words." She squeezed both of his hands tightly.

"That doesn't say much for your abilities as a writer, does it?" He teased, giving her a wink.

"I guess it doesn't." She shrugged.

"I know one thing for sure. I don't need to bother with the Henry James novel."

"Why not?"

"Because tonight I saw first hand what _The Portrait of a Lady_ is all about." He reached and tucked a fine strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

 **TBC**

 **If you love these two as much as I do, let me know!**


	21. Chapter 21

_As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, the city lights began to wake up, one by one, in preparation of illuminating the darkest hours that lie ahead. He stood at the window in his office, staring down at the city before him. The cocktail hour had arrived quietly, and he raised his glass with a smile to the urban madness below. He knew she was waiting for him, but he didn't care. Checking his watch, he was obviously late. He could see her there, sitting alone at their table, running her finger nervously around the rim of her glass and wondering if she would be stood up. Again. Looking over his shoulder, he spied the package on his desk—the second one to be delivered by courier that week. He knew her motives exactly, and though every fiber of his being screamed at him to run in the opposite direction, a tiny voice inside him continued to whisper devilishly in his ear._

 _It's just one drink. What's the harm in that? One drink and she'll never know…_

 _It was always just one drink. Never more, never less. He'd never touched her, though he thought of little else. He'd made love to her in his mind repeatedly, but had yet to cross that line. Their affair was truly a meeting of the minds. They'd teased and taunted each other with their words—seductive conversations that made him weak. It was like a game. A carefully crafted tennis match, full of sexual tension. They both wanted it—it was obvious in the suggestive nature of their banter. But he'd resisted, testing his will power against any physical advance. It's not the kill that excites, but the hunt._

 _He strolled casually back to the bar and checked his stock. He needed bourbon. She never drank anything else. In the back of the cabinet, he found it—a tall box containing a brand new bottle of Kentucky's finest. It wasn't what he considered a feminine choice in beverages. It was a man's drink. But she was a power player, and he smiled smugly, knowing how she longed to be one of the boys. His wife would be more reserved in her choice, opting for a fine wine. A smooth liqueur perhaps, slightly chilled with the presence of a single ice cube. She's probably nursing one right this minute, he thought as he checked his watch one more._

 _"Penny for your thoughts." A woman's voice shattered the silence of his office._

 _"I didn't hear you come in." He looked up._

 _"Well when you're sneaking around, it pays to be quiet." She closed the doors softly behind her._

 _"Sneaking around? Is that what we're doing?" He asked._

 _"You tell me. I'm not the one wearing a wedding ring." She dropped her purse on the sofa and removed her coat, tossing it beside her handbag. Bending down, she slipped a pair of expensive Italian leather sandals off her slender feet. As she made her way to the bar, she noticed the package on his desk._

 _"Special delivery?" She asked with a smirk._

 _"Maybe."_

 _"You haven't opened it yet?" She settled herself on the barstool in front of him._

 _"I thought I'd wait."_

 _"Wait for what?"_

 _"To see if you wanted to play post office." He grinned impishly as he poured her drink._

 _Watching him closely, she noted every movement of his fingers as he filled the empty glass. For weeks, she could think of nothing but what those hands might feel like against her skin. She longed to feel them running through the layers of her hair and down her neck. Her reserve was wearing thin, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep herself in check._

 _"Here you are." He held out the glass to her._

 _"Thank you." She smiled. "So where's the Missus this evening?"_

 _"Sitting at our favorite table."_

 _"That's not very gentlemanlike of you—leaving your wife all alone in a bar."_

 _"She's a big girl."_

 _"She's pregnant."_

 _"That's not what I meant." He walked around the side of the bar to her, offering his arm. "Shall we?" He motioned toward the sofa._

 _"Of course." She stood, linking her arm through his._

 _He reached for her purse and coat, and dropped them carelessly on a sleek leather chair before taking his place beside her. They sat facing each other on the sofa, drinks in hand, saying nothing. It was all part of their game—waiting to see who would initiate the dialogue. It always started with a name…_

 _"Maria Shiver." She smiled as she served up the first name of their verbal tennis match._

 _"Ave Maria." He responded._

 _"How do you solve a problem like Maria?"_

 _"Santa Maria."_

 _"Santa Fe."_

 _"Santa Barbara."_

 _"Barbara Hutton."_

 _"Barbara Bush."_

 _"George Bush."_

 _"George Orwell."_

 _"George Bernard Shaw."_

 _"George Washington."_

 _"George Lucas."_

 _"Lucas Gusher."_

 _"Lucas Gusher? Never heard of him." She shook her head._

 _"That's because it's not a who, it's a what. The Lucas Gusher is an oil well. It launched the oil industry as we know it today."_

 _"Looks like I lost this round. You stumped me again."_

 _"How did we get started playing this little game anyway?"_

 _"Don't tell me you've already forgotten?"_

 _"Oh yes. At the bar at the charity ball."_

 _"You ordered a Tom Collins and I said you looked more like the type of man who'd prefer a Joan Collins, remember?"_

 _"Right!" He snapped his fingers with a smile._

 _"You know you never answered my initial query."_

 _"About what?"  
_

 _"About Joan Collins."_

 _"She's not my type."_

 _"You have a type?"_

 _"Every man has a type."_

 _"So let's hear it. What type of woman turns a millionaire on?"_

 _"It's a short list. Just one thing."_

 _"Money?" She asked playfully._

 _"Confidence."_

 _"Really? Interesting choice."_

 _"There's nothing sexier than a confident woman." He raised his glass to his lips._

 _"I'll try and remember that."_

 _"What's your type?"_

 _"It's a short list. Just one thing."_

 _"Confidence?"_

 _"Money." She winked, taking a sip of her drink._

 _"Honesty is a close second on my list." He winked back._

 _They sat in silence, sharing a quiet exchange with their eyes. The last six weeks he'd found himself on that sofa, sharing drinks and intoxicating conversation with her. There was something about the encounter at the gala with the woman now sitting across from him that emptied his mind of all that was coherent. He wanted her as he'd never wanted another woman before. Seeing her lips, wet with traces of bourbon, he couldn't stop himself. Looking into her eyes, he knew the game was now over. His resolve crumbled and he leaned forward into her_ , _falling helplessly across the threshold of adultery._

 _His mouth upon hers, he kissed her tenderly—fearful of rushing. Her breath filled him, as she returned his kiss eagerly. He pulled away for a moment, taking the glass from her hand and placing it neatly on the glass top table. Turning back to her, he ran his hand up the length of her arm, stopping to stroke the velvety skin of her neck. Their eyes connected and it was clear that on this night, one drink would not suffice. His fingers disappeared in her hair as he pulled her body against his. Finding her lips once more, he kissed her again and all rational thought escaped him. Never mind he was married—supposedly happily. Forget that his wife carried their unborn child. He couldn't stop the wave of emotion that ran through his body as every kiss brought him closer and closer to the point of no return._

 _"I want you." He whispered between kisses._

 _"We can't. I'm sorry." She tried to pull away, but he held her tightly._

 _"What's wrong?"_

 _"Everything's wrong. This is wrong. You're married and your wife's expecting a baby. I don't know what I was thinking coming here these last few weeks."_

 _"You're here for the same reason I am. Despite how wrong this may seem, nothing's ever felt this right to me in my whole life. I'm falling in love with you—right or wrong. Wife or no wife. Baby or no baby."_

 _"But—"_

 _"Don't tell me you've suddenly found your conscience?"_

 _"This is not going to work. She'll never give you up and I don't like to share." She stood, slipping her feet back into her shoes and retrieving her items from the chair. He didn't speak,_ _but watched as she slipped back into her coat._

 _"Don't go." He stood, holding his hand out to her._

 _"I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry." She turned and walked with short, quick steps to the door. He followed behind her, taking her arm and turning her back around._

 _"This is the part where I'm supposed to confess that the right woman is getting away. Please don't make me say that." With his finger tucked gently under her chin, he turned her face up to meet his. His eyes showed a softness, evidence that he wanted more than just a one-night stand. Unable to stop himself, he kissed her once more only this time with a tenderness that he'd never shared with another woman. A kiss that rendered him powerless against the feelings that stirred inside him._

 _"We have to stop." She swam inside his blue eyes, knowing that if she lingered one minute longer in his gaze that she'd never be able to leave his side._

 _"I can't stop." He ran his thumb gently across her cheek. "I love you, and I can't stop..."_

"So what do you think?" She asked.

"My honest opinion?"

"Nothing less." She looked straight into his eyes.

"I think you double crossed me." He handed the document back to her.

"Why?"

"Because I don't remember giving you the authority to use my crazy dream in your novel, that's why." Jonathan raised one eyebrow.

"But your details were so vivid, the passage practically wrote itself."

"I dreamed I was screwing around on you, Jennifer. I don't care to advertise that to the world."

"It was just a dream. No one would ever know it came from you. It's called _fiction_ , remember?"

"Can't you just have your character holed up in his office with his pregnant wife? Maybe make her a redhead or something?" He shared a hopeful grin.

"I don't think so." Jennifer shook her head definitely.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because adultery sells." She winked.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Dear Kid,_

 _Or maybe I should call you LP. I overheard your mom and dad call you that a few of weeks ago. I didn't ask them but I'm guessing it's your initials. They are determined to keep your name a secret from everyone. And far be it from me to ask. But I have spent a few nights going back through my book of names, trying to see if I could figure it out. Are you going to be Landon? I think Jennifer had that one on her short list at one time. What about Logan? I think your dad liked that name. Well, whatever moniker they've decided on, I'm sure it will be the perfect name for you. I have yet to see your parents fail at anything. If they're still debating, they'll have to get a move on. You've hit the thirty-six week mark now and it won't be long until you make a public appearance. Just one more month. The home stretch. The final lap. You might actually surprise us with an early arrival, but I doubt it. From what I've read, most first time deliveries are more late than early. I hope for your mom's sake that you'll be early or right on time at least. She's really struggling with sleep these days. Maybe the doctor will have some news for them today. You might be closer to being with us than we think. They're at Dr. Sumner's office right now. They made an early appointment because your dad has a surprise planned for your mom later today. Actually, today is the anniversary of the day your dad kissed your mom—or so I've been told. It was in the elevator at the hospital where your mom and I were both patients. Remember? I told you all about it several letters ago. He's got a trip down memory lane planned for them, which will take the better part of the day. Then tonight, your dad is taking your mom out to dinner. Only it isn't dinner exactly. Your old man's reserved the Museum of Fine Art (in exchange for a hefty donation), and is having some famous photographer flown in to take photos of your mother and you while you're still in the oven. Sounds a little extravagant, if you ask me. But your father never does anything half-way. It's all or nothing—especially where your mom is concerned. I say some Dim Sum and a Polaroid or two would suffice but then I haven't had much worth photographing in a while._

 _More later,_

 _Uncle Max_

 _P.S. I don't think I mentioned this in my last letter, but your mom and dad finally received their diplomas in the mail the other day—the ones from the birthing classes they took at the hospital. So I guess they're official deemed worthy to be parents. Word is that their instructor is a good friend of Dr. Sumner and she gave your father a pretty hard time. Whenever she asked for a volunteer, she picked your dad every time, whether he wanted to participate or not. Your mom said he was very funny and everyone's favorite comic throughout the course. On the final night of class, the instructor gave out awards to all the would-be moms and their coaches. Your dad was given the "Class Clown" award while your mom was named "Most Likely To Give Birth While Looking Fabulous." Just three nights with them and that instructor had them pegged. I can't wait to see your father in action with you. He's going to be a great dad!_

XXXXXXXXXX

"You've come a long way, Baby." Jonathan pointed to the picture of a fetus at thirty-seven weeks.

" _We've_ come a long way." She secured the light blue hospital gown around her neck before taking her place on top of the exam table. She was Dr. Sumner's second appointment of the day—at her husband's request. Evidently, Jonathan had a number of business errands to run, and wanted to get a jump start on the day. She questioned him but he'd remained vague about the nature of his business, merely smiling and requesting her presence as he accomplished a multitude of tasks. His lack of information meant only one thing: he was up to something. She didn't press him, knowing that whatever he was cooking up would be magical.

A knock on the door was followed by Dr. Sumner's head peaking inside the examination room.

"Good Morning, Hart Family." He exchanged handshakes with both.

"Morning." Jonathan smiled.

"And how is everyone on this beautiful Friday morning?"

"Fine. Tired but fine." Jennifer responded.

"Sleep issues are the same I take it?"

"No change." She shook her head.

"Just a little while longer. You think you have sleep issues now…" He winked.

"But we won't mind waking up to our new alarm clock." Jonathan smiled lovingly at his wife.

"Well, let's get it over with. Same song, different verse. I'll check the cerclage, ask the standard questions, and then we'll see you back her next week." He opened the cabinet on the wall behind him just as a nurse entered.

"Any chance we could push the delivery up?" Jonathan asked.

"Only if I thought there was a problem. But I promise that when the forty week mark comes and goes, we'll end the suspense." He snapped on a fresh pair of latex gloves before settling himself on the small rolling stool.

"What are the chances of actually making it to forty weeks once the stitches are removed?" He asked, helping Jennifer lie back in position.

"It's a fifty-fifty shot. Some make it, others don't. Jennifer's cervical opening was small, so her chances are somewhat better—but only slightly. Now breathe deeply for me, Jennifer."

Jonathan held one of her hands, and gently smoothed her hair back with his other. She closed her eyes, eager to hear Dr. Sumner's comforting confirmation that all was well. Though she'd been through this same routine for weeks, she always held her breath. After a minute, he stood with a smile.

"Just like last week. Everything looks great."

The next several minutes were spent locating and recording LP's heartbeat and answering the obligatory questions that all pregnant couples answer when entering the last month.

"I double checked and your paperwork has been processed at the hospital. So your reservation is set." He winked at Jennifer.

"That's good news." She nodded.

"Your bags are packed?"

"Yes." They spoke in unison.

"Any other questions you can think of?"

Jonathan and Jennifer traded looks, but both appeared confident. "I think we're just ready to get the show on the road." Jonathan answered.

"Next week I'll remove the stitches and then we'll see what happens." He extended his hand once more.

"Thanks so much, Dr. Sumner. We appreciate all you're doing for us." Jonathan shook his hand.

"Just keep her comfortable, and see that she takes plenty of catnaps following those difficult nights."

As they stood in the elevator, he reached for her hand.

"Are you disappointed?" He asked.

"That he didn't whisk me away to the hospital and take this baby out? No, I'm really not. Are you?"

"Not at all. I don't want to rush this. This is such a special time for us."

They walked hand in hand to the convertible parked on Level Three. He opened her door with a slight bow and helped her in. After clicking her seat belt into place, he quickly made it around and into the driver's seat. Within two minutes, they were in back on the road—but to where, she had absolutely no idea.

They drove in silence, enjoying the sunny March skies above them and listening to their favorite jazz station on the radio. Jennifer hummed along while Jonathan kept time on the steering wheel with his hands, drumming a steady beat. It wasn't long until he flipped up the turn indicator and began slowing down. As they turned onto a side street, she knew immediately where their first stop would be.

"I need to make a stop at my apartment, Ms. Edwards. Would you like to see it?" He asked with a playful grin.

"Miss out on the chance to see the home of your bachelorhood? Are you kidding?" She teased.

He pulled the car into the parking garage and parked in the assigned spot. They took the elevator to the top floor, bypassing the lobby. He fumbled for the key for a moment then opened the door to his former bachelor pad and ushered her inside.

"We haven't been here in a long time." She walked to the middle of the living room and looked around in quiet reflection. It was very much like she remembered, with most of the art and furnishings of Jonathan's single days in place. Now used by important clients and out of town guests, it still retained the same warmth that enveloped her from the moment she'd first wheeled inside his home. The carved bookcase stood proudly on the wall opposite the front door, though most of its shelves were stripped of books. Just a few well placed objet d'art here and there.

"Did you realize that it was exactly one year ago today that you rolled off that plane from DC and I picked you up from the airport?"

"Not until this moment, no." She confessed.

"I brought you back here to pick up a few things I needed for Max." He took her by the hand and led her over to the sofa. Together they sat, as he continued to tell his tale. "It was the day I knew I was in trouble. Right here. In this very apartment. I knew it was the beginning of the end." He swept her hair back off her shoulder.

"That soon? You barely knew me."

"After that scene with Angela, when you wheeled yourself back in here wearing the oven mitt and holding that barbeque fork over your head. I was done. Toast. Case closed. I knew that you were different and more special than any woman I'd ever met."

"I had that certain _je ne sais_ _quoi_?"

"In spades, Darling. In spades."

"Jonathan, what are we doing here? You didn't bring me over here just to tell me a story, did you?"

"I brought you here for brunch. An anniversary brunch." He answered, just as a knock sounded behind them. "Perfect timing." He stood, walking briskly to answer the door.

Two gentlemen entered, pushing a cart filled with silver serving pieces along with a large bouquet of orchids. Jennifer smiled knowingly at him as the table on the balcony was prepared for them. After a couple of minutes, the gentlemen excused themselves, leaving Jennifer and Jonathan alone. She sipped her fresh squeezed orange juice and surveyed the city around them.

"I remember the first time you showed me the view of LA from here. God, you embarrassed me."

"I did? I don't remember that."

"I do. I made some comment like, _'Oh I bet it's gorgeous out here at night with all the lights'_ to which you looked right into my eyes and said something like _'its gorgeous in any light_.'" She imitated his husky voice.

"I said that?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Damn, I was good."

"You still are." She winked.

An hour slipped quickly by as they enjoyed the feast and each other high above the city. They shared stories of other times they'd spent on the balcony as their love continued to grow into an unbreakable union.

"I remember the afternoon when I thought I was losing you—right here on this balcony."

"The afternoon I showed up with the pizza? After you talked to my father?"

"The day before your surgery. I was so afraid that you weren't going to go through with it. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if that had happened."

"I came to my senses." She winked. "Do you remember what happened after we finished the pizza?"

"You gave me this." He reached inside the collar of his shirt and lifted up the gold chain that hung around his neck.

"No, not that. I mean the nap."

"Oh yes. The nap."

"Of all the special moments in my life, that one is definitely in my top three."

"Me too."

"I think that was the moment when I was toast. Officially, I mean."

"Now be honest. Were you toast before or after I whispered those three little words to you?"

"Before. If I had to nail down the exact moment, it might be when you pretended you were leaving the room for good, only you went into the bathroom and changed clothes. And then you came and stood right beside the bed wearing this sexy little grin and said, _'Move over, Red.'_ That was it. _"_

"But you told me later that you hated to be called Red."

"I did. And I do—by anyone other than you."

It was close to two o'clock when they drove through the gate of their estate. He knew she was growing tired, and talk of the nap earlier was beginning to sound good to him. Together they'd spent the day reliving some of their favorite memories—with brunch at the apartment, followed by a walk in the park, complete with a visit to their favorite bench. Their final stop: the hospital…and one very special elevator. Jonathan borrowed an abandoned wheelchair from the nurse's station on the second floor and wheeled her inside, as they recreated the first time their lips touched. And though she refused to allow him to trip the emergency stop alarm, he bent down beside the chair and kissed her in the same dangerous way he had exactly one year before. The kiss that changed his life.

They found Max and Freeway curled up together on the sofa, catching forty winks a piece. Quietly, they climbed the stairs to their bedroom and the yummy bed that waited. She quickly changed into one of his t-shirts and a pair of maternity shorts before settling herself in among the pillows. Jonathan searched through the drawers in his dressing area then finally found them—the same pair of sweatpants and t-shirt he'd worn the afternoon of their first nap. With a grin, he changed out of his khakis and button down. He strolled boldly around to her side of the bed, wearing a large, proud smile.

"Move over, Red." He spoke in that same husky tone, smiling down at her with the sweetest expression.

"I thought you'd never ask." She bit her bottom lip.

He continued around to his side of the bed and crawled up beside her, giving her pillows a loving fluff as he burrowed in next to her. He nuzzled his head against hers, and sighed heavily. Of all their travels and adventures, sleeping beside his wife in the middle of the day was his favorite escape.

" _It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity_." He whispered after several minutes, repeating the emotional words from the racy D.H Lawrence novel.

"I'm sure there are a few other _necessities_ out there." She responded softly, pulling his arm across her body.

"But none as simple and satisfying as lying here with you."

"Jonathan?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How did you manage to keep yourself single until I came along?"

"What?" He laughed.

"I'm serious."

"It wasn't that hard."

"But they all wanted you. Every single one. How could they not?"

"You didn't know me back then. I was different."

"In what way?"

"In every way. I didn't love them. I love you. I'm a completely different person with you than I was with every other woman in my past."

"Different how?"

"I don't know. I was more arrogant back them. I was proud. Cocky."

"I don't believe you."

"Ask Max. He'll tell you. But from the moment I met you, that all changed. Just being around you and discovering new things about you made me want to be a better person. All the pride didn't matter anymore. For the first time in my life I wanted to be vulnerable because you were worth the risk. You gave me the courage to do that."

She paused, allowing the honesty of his words sink in. _If the New Yorker ever heard the words that flowed so effortlessly from this man, they'd never ask me to write another sentence._

"I don't want anything to change between us when this baby comes."

"It won't. We'll just have one more thing to smile about."

"Promise me that we'll still make time for this." She wrapped her fingers around his.

He could hear it in her voice—a tone of uncertainty. With his hand firmly on her shoulder, he rolled her over to face him.

"We've always made time for this and we always will."

She looked into his eyes, and though she heard the truth in his voice, she couldn't hide the apprehension in her own.

"Jennifer, what's going on? Having doubts here in the bottom of the ninth is not very encouraging." He ignored her comment, trying to keep the seriousness of the conversation in tact.

"I'm not having doubts about LP."

"Then what?"

"It's just that we've spent the last however many hours reliving some of the most special moments in our relationship and there's a tiny part of me that doesn't want the dynamic to change. Is that bad?"

"Of course it's not bad. It's normal. I've had the same thought myself—only mine was fueled by something much more selfish."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not very good at sharing."

"That's not true. You're one of the most generous people I know."

"That's not what I mean. I can be generous with money, but I don't want to share _you_."

"Oh." She answered quietly, surprised to learn that he shared her feelings.

"I can't wait to hold him and love him and share everything in the world with him but there's a little place inside of me that feels the same way you do. It's been you and me everyday from the moment you rolled off that plane. There will always be a part of me that will long for those days. But the days ahead will be lit with such a bright light that we won't want to look back very often."

She turned her attention to the gold chain hanging around his neck. Reaching up, she ran her finger back and forth across it, trying to collect the most gentle of words to describe her confused feelings.

"I read an article in Parenting magazine yesterday and this woman wrote that she can't remember back before her baby arrived—that her life didn't really start until she became a mom. Now I know she meant it in the sweetest way possible, but it scared me." She paused, continuing to finger the chain around his neck. With a deep breath, she looked up into his eyes and spoke the words she'd been afraid to say out loud. "I don't want to forget us, Jonathan. Being us is the truest I've ever been to myself. It's the most vulnerable I've ever allowed _myself_ to be. I don't want to lose us." She could feel the knot, working its way up into her throat. "I don't want you to crawl into this bed one night and make love to a stranger who happens to be your wife."

"Jennifer," He looked down into her autumn eyes, full of conflict and guilt. "That's not going to happen."

 **TBC**


	22. Chapter 22

_Hey Champ!_

 _I can't believe it, but we made it another week! Thirty nine weeks and three days and you're still resting comfortably inside your mother's beautiful belly. I thought for sure that as soon as Dr. Sumner removed the cerclage last week that we'd be holding you by now. But if you're happy staying put where you are, then that's fine by me. At yesterday's appointment, we got to take a peek at you. Dr. Sumner performed another ultrasound and internal exam and it seems that you are starting to make your way into the birth canal. Your head is down and you're getting into position. It could be anytime now, even though you could technically stay put for another full week. He told us the average interval between cerclage removal and delivery is somewhere around fifteen days. So you just might go beyond the forty week mark and Easter Sunday after all. Mommy has gained twenty-nine glorious pounds and Dr. Sumner predicts that you'll be tipping the scales around the seven pound mark._

 _Can it really be true? Are you really almost here? I've read the final chapters of our pregnancy guides at least half a dozen times over the last week. Your room is ready, the car seat is secure inside Mommy's SUV, and all your tiny clothes are washed and folded neatly in your room. I just wish your mom was feeling better. She's been battling some awful allergies that popped up a few days ago and she just isn't herself. She's been the picture of health throughout her entire pregnancy and I hate to see her running out of steam just as we get to the finish line. The doctor prescribed a safe antihistamine, but she's afraid to take it. She's been strictly by the book and I don't think she'll give in to the tree pollen monster with less than a week to go. We've tried every homemade remedy that Max and I can think of, but nothing seems to work. Maybe the fact that Grandpa is flying in tonight will perk her up a bit. It's nice that he'll be here with us this weekend for Easter. Will you be here for Easter? That seems to be the millionaire dollar question lately. Just two more days, and we'll know for sure._

 _We finally decided on a middle name for you. We've been back and forth through our baby name books and page by page through the book where we found your first name. Actually, your Grandpa gave us a hint about your middle name, though he didn't know it at the time. We were talking about names during Christmas and he mentioned something that stood out to your mom and me. We talked about it and agreed it was perfect for several reasons, as long as you arrive when we think you will. So I am happy to report that you will enter this world with a first, middle and last name (and a trust fund, a polo pony, a dog, and a partridge in a pear tree)._

 _Well it seems that I'm now late for a board meeting. I just had a few minutes to jot these thoughts down, and like always, our time together slips by too fast. If it's going by this fast on paper, I can't imagine how quickly the days will go once you are here. With each line, I wonder if this will be the last letter I write before I'm holding you and looking into your face. I know I've tried in the past to describe how incredibly blessed I feel to be sharing this journey with your mother. But the words necessary to convey the intensity of my feelings escape me. Seeing her change and grow has been the most humbling experience. Everyday I am inspired by her love and commitment, not only to me but to keeping you safe and healthy as you float in quiet darkness inside her. I have had the pleasure to gaze upon some of the most exquisite landscapes in the world and behold many priceless works of art and none of them can compare to the beauty that I have witness in your mother over these past months. I truly am the luckiest man in the world._

 _I love you!_

XXXXXXXXXX

"Hart Residence." Max answered politely.

"Hey Max. It's me. We're on our way."

"You got Stephen already?" Max glanced at the large antique clock on the mantle.

"He was able to catch an earlier flight. Where's Jennifer?"

"She's lying down upstairs. She's pretty miserable, Mr. H."

"Any luck with the medicine?"

"She won't take it."

"Maybe Stephen can convince her."

"I doubt it, but it's worth a try."

"Well don't disturb her, but if you see her just let her know we're en route."

"Will do. Anything else?"

"Stephen says keep the martinis cold until we get there." Jonathan's wink toward his father-in-law was met with a nod of confirmation.

"Sure thing."

"And we better eighty-six the poker game tonight, since Jennifer's still on the DL."

"I'm way ahead of you. I already called the boys and Barbara."

"Thanks, Max. I really appreciate it."

"It's no problem. We all want what's best for Mom and baby."

"We'll be home in about an hour."

"Okay, see you then."

Max quietly placed the receiver back in its cradle. He was startled when he heard her voice behind him.

"Was that Jonathan?" She asked.

"God, Jennifer. You scared me to death." He turned around sharply.

"Oh I'm sorry."

"Did the phone wake you?"

"No, I wasn't asleep."

"Are you feeling any better?"

"Not really." She shook her head.

"No offense Jennifer, but you don't look very good. Come on over here and lie down." He motioned toward the sofa.

"No, I need to sit up for a while. My head feels like it's going to explode."

"You got one of those Macy's headaches, huh?"

"Macy's headaches?"

"When your head feels like one of those giant balloons that goes bouncing along Broadway in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade."

"Bingo." She gave him a thumbs-up. "That's exactly how I feel."

"You know what would make you feel better?" He asked.

"What?" She flopped down on the sofa.

"Following your doctor's advice and taking one of those antihistamines."

"Nice try, but I'm not taking anything."

"C'mon. Dr. Sumner wouldn't prescribe anything that wasn't safe. You know that."

"I don't need anything. I'll be fine. Just a day or two and I'm sure I'll be over this."

"That's what you said two days ago."

"What did Jonathan say? That was Jonathan that called, right?"

"He and your father are on their way home from the airport now."

"Already?" She checked her watch.

"Evidently, your dad caught an earlier flight. They should be here in an hour."

"What time's the game?"

"Well, we decided to cancel. Something came up."

"You mean you cancelled because I'm not feeling well."

"Listen, Jennifer, you need to rest. You could go into labor at any moment. What you don't need is a bunch of loud ruffians tracking up the carpet and playing cards 'til all hours of the morning."

"But this might be Jonathan's last poker game for a while." She argued.

"And if given the choice between Texas Hold 'Em and you, he's picking you every time." Max spoke with a sweet smile. "Now, since you won't take your medicine, at least let me bring you an OJ or something."

"An OJ would be great. Thank you."

"C'mon Freeway, let's get your mommy fixed up." He snapped his fingers and the dog followed him to the kitchen.

Max disappeared and was only gone a moment when he returned with a package in his hands. "This came for you earlier." He handed the package to her then headed back toward the kitchen.

Jennifer examined the postmark and return address. _TCO_ _New York_. It was neatly addressed to Mr. and Mrs. J.C. Hart? _Mr. and Mrs. J.C. Hart?_ She studied the handwriting for several moments. They'd never received post of any kind addressed in that manner. She debated whether to open it alone or wait for Jonathan. After a minute, she decided on the latter.

Leaving the box on the coffee table, she made her way over the bar. She rifled through several drawers in search of a small black notebook. It wasn't long until she located it, tucked neatly under a stack of cocktail napkins. _Max's little black book._ Throwing her eyes back toward the kitchen, she hesitated. Finally, she reached for the phone, lifting the receiver quietly before dialing.

"Hello." A woman's voice answered.

"Hi Barbara. It's Jennifer."

"Hey Hon. How are you feeling?"

"Much better. I think I'm definitely on the mend." She tried her best to project a well-rested voice.

"You don't sound like it."

"Listen, I understand there's been a little mix-up with the game tonight."

"No mix-up. Max called and asked to reschedule."

"Well the game's back on. Can you call the guys and let them know?"

"It's back on? But Max said—"

"Jonathan and my father are on their way from the airport now. So if you could just make the calls and let everyone know." She interrupted, but tried to remain nonchalant.

"Jennifer, does Max know you're calling me?"

"Of course he does. He's in the kitchen right now getting the poker snacks in order as we speak."

"You're sure?" Barbara sounded hesitant.

"Would I be calling if I wasn't? Now rustle up the boys and we'll see you around the usual time."

"Okay. See you then."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Mommy Dearest!" Stephen teased, holding his arms out and giving his daughter a tight hug.

"I'm so happy that you're here." Jennifer lingered in her father's arms, enjoying the comfort of his affections as they stood in a warm embrace at the front door.

"My dear, you look dreadful." He took a step back, examining her from head to toe.

"Flattery will get you nowhere." She managed a wink.

Returning her wink, he removed his hat and dropped it on the credenza in the foyer. With a smile, she wrapped her arm around his waist, as they continued into the living room, while Jonathan retrieved his father-in-law suitcase from the trunk.

"That's not what I meant. Darling, I'm so sorry that you're not feeling well." They sat down together, side by side. Taking her hand in his, he gave her a tender, concerned look.

"I'll be alright. It's just allergies or something. I should be able to shake it in a day or two."

"Have you seen your doctor?" Stephen asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes, we had our weekly appointment yesterday."

"And what did he prescribe?"

"Plenty of rest."

"That's it?" He raised an eyebrow.

"That's all I need. And to have you here with us." She smiled, giving his hand a loving squeeze.

"Grandpa Edwards! Welcome back!" Max returned with Freeway following close behind.

"Thank you, Max. It's good to be back." He stood, offering his hand.

"I have a frosty glass with your name on it. Just say the word." Max pointed at the bar.

"Well that would certainly put the good in Good Friday." Stephen nodded.

Jonathan entered, carrying Stephen's suitcase in one hand, and a tiny pair of black riding boots in the other. Jennifer smiled up at him, shaking her head.

"You can mark these off the list." He held the boots up with a grin before bending over the back of the sofa to share a soft kiss with his wife.

"And just where did you get those?" She reached out, taking the boots from him. They were the tiniest boots she'd ever seen, crafted from the finest quality leather and bearing an _H_ monogram on each. Flipping them upside down, she examined the soles and was immediately struck by the maker's mark in the heels.

"Don't ask me." Jonathan threw his gaze toward Stephen.

" _C.F. Buenos Aires_?" She looked up at her father, shaking her head once more.

"You can't expect my grandson to trot around on what may be the finest polo pony ever in anything less." He raised his martini glass with a smirk.

"Stephen Edwards, even _I_ don't own a pair of Faglianos." She argued.

"Well that's not my fault."

"But this is outrageous! What did these cost? Fifteen hundred? Two thousand?"

"Cost is not the issue. It's about quality. Those growing feet—"

"Will probably only wear them once or twice." She gave him a stern look.

"Jonathan, would you tell your wife that it's only money." Stephen grinned at his son-in-law.

"Darling, it's only money." He repeated, trying his best not to laugh.

Though she smiled all through dinner, Jennifer couldn't fool any of them. The pressure in her head was intense, and she wanted nothing more than to disappear under the sheets and sleep her aching body back to health. The conversation at the dinner table had been subdued—nothing like the usual jovial banter between the four of them. She'd said very little, offering nothing more than an occasional nod here and there. The gentlemen were passive, quietly discussing stock market fluctuations and the benefits of hitting a high draw off the tee box. Jonathan caught her eye several times; his expression showing worry and concern. But Jennifer mustered a pleasant happy look in an effort to reassure him. As Stephen stood to retrieve dessert from the kitchen, Max offered his assistance, leaving Jonathan alone with his wife for the first time since he'd been home.

"What are you doing?" He asked, giving her a serious look.

"Waiting for dessert?" She wrinkled her nose, knowing that a lecture was on the way.

"Try again." He shook his head.

"Making you crazy?"

"Yes. And not in the way I normally enjoy."

"I'm fine. Really." She held out her hand, giving his arm a loving pat.

"Just take the medicine. Please? For me?" He pleaded.

"Jonathan, we've been through this. I'll be fine. I'm already feeling better." Her attempt at a bright smile was less than impressive.

"You can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. Up." He stood, taking her by the hand.

"But what about dessert?"

"Dessert is only for good little girls who take their medicine."

She slipped her hand into his back pocket as they climbed the stairs. It was no use fighting him. Taking no for an answer was not in Jonathan's repertoire. And deep down, she knew he was right. She'd played the brave, pregnant heroine for the hours since her father's arrival, and she was ready for her performance to come to an end.

"Can I at least say goodnight to my father?" She asked, as he closed the door to their bedroom.

"No." He grinned. "I'll deliver the message."

"But it's only eight o'clock."

"Then I'm sure you can find a good movie to watch." He disappeared into their dressing area and returned a moment later with shopping bag from an upscale and very expensive lingerie boutique. "Or maybe you'd like to model this." He handed her the bag with a mischievous smile.

"We really must see about getting you into a twelve step program." She sighed and took the bag from his grasp.

"For shopaholics or men addicted to women's lingerie?"

"Both."

"If you don't feel like trying it on, then that's fine. But I wanted you to have something really special to wear at the hospital. Not that you don't make those cotton hospital gowns look fabulous. But when I saw this, it just completed the picture."

"The picture?" She carried the bag over to the bed.

"The one in my head. Remember when you asked me what I think about when I think of LP? And I said I have this very vivid image of you lying in the hospital wearing something fantastic and holding our son? Well that's it. Fantastic is right inside that bag." He pointed with a grin.

Jennifer returned his smile. Reaching inside, she carefully removed a silky nightgown and matching robe. The design was simple and tasteful, but the color took her breath away. It was the most incredible shade of blue—balancing somewhere between slate and periwinkle.

"Oh Jonathan…"

"I was only in there for five minutes. When I saw it, I knew. It has your name written all over it."

"I love the color. It's absolutely gorgeous." She held it up in front of her.

"No really. It really does have your name written all over it." He reached for the shopping bag, pulling the receipt from the bottom and handing it to her. "It's from a new collection—the _Jennifer_ collection."

"Well isn't that something?" She inspected the receipt.

"I'll take it back down with me since your bag's already in the car. Now why don't you get into that yummy bed and get some rest. I'll bring you up a nice treat prize." He wrapped his arms around her. "You've hardly slept the last two nights."

"I guess arguing with you at this point—"

"Would be a complete waste of time." He finished her sentence. "Now go!" He gave her backside a playful slap and turned back to the door.

Jennifer gave a less than thrilling salute, then walked into the dressing area. Jonathan closed the door to their suite quietly, leaving his wife alone. She stood in front of the mirror, turning from side to side as she cradled her belly. _Time's up,_ she thought with a smile. She got undressed and slipped into her favorite piece of sleepwear—Jonathan's pajama top. Seeing her reflection again, she laughed to herself.

 _Another week and I'd be busting the buttons off this_. She spent several seconds trying to secure the garment around her midsection—to no avail. With a sigh, she abandoned her efforts and settled on just the top two buttons, allowing the top to hang open loosely, exposing her grand form. Turning again from side to side, she marveled at her body. She studied the faint line that ran from her protruding belly button down the length of her abdomen. Lightly, she traced the line with her index finger, watching herself in the mirror. _How can this be my body?_ The last three months had brought about the most visible changes. And with each week, and with every additional pound, she found herself more and more fascinated. Not so much by the fact that there was a baby growing inside her but surprised by her own feelings. Feelings that she thought would never be her own. She'd envisioned her existence in a number of ways. And though she'd written many pages in the book of her life with a multitude of possible endings, this was certainly not one of them. Happiness—true happiness—had never really figured into the equation of Jennifer Edwards life. Real happiness didn't exist. And if some miniscule facet of it did, just for argument sake, then surely it was trite and fleeting. But what about contentment? Could there be a more noble aspiration? Of course being content isn't exactly the same as being happy. It's playing the cards you're dealt. It was a life she'd lived for several years and one she never cared to visit again. She smiled at herself once more before flipping off the light and silently acknowledging that Jennifer Edwards, purveyor of contentment, was now Jennifer Hart, happy beyond belief.

She was so engrossed in her book that she didn't hear him come in. He quietly stuck his head in their bedroom, checking to see if she was still awake.

"You're still awake?" He asked, coming all the way into their room. In his hand he carried the mystery package, placing it quietly on his bedside table.

"As tired as I feel, I'm just not sleepy. I thought I'd read for a while."

"Well I just came up here to check on you and to let your know that your little plan didn't work." He lay across the end of their bed.

"What little plan?"

"The game."

"What game?"

"The poker game? Barbara called me right after you called her."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She smiled innocently.

"You're just itching for punishment aren't you?"

"So there's no game tonight?"

"No game." He shook his head.

Using her finger as a bookmark, she closed her book and concentrated on his face. "I just wanted you to enjoy yourself one more time. Things are about to be very different around here."

"Do you honestly think that I could enjoy myself knowing that you were up here alone feeling lousy? Because given the choice between poker and you, I'm choosing you. Every time."

"That's what Max said." She looked down at her wedding ring.

"Any idea who sent this?" He crawled over and retrieved the package.

"None. I've never known anyone to send anything to J.C. Hart."

"I have, but it was years ago." He carefully removed the brown parcel paper, smiling when he revealed a Tiffany blue box beneath it.

"Who?" She moved closer to him.

"Nikki."

"Is that her handwriting?"

Jonathan reached for the discarded brown paper, inspecting the writing for a moment. "No, I don't think so."

"Well whoever it's from has good taste."

"I'll let you do the honors." He placed the blue box on her lap.

Jennifer removed the lid, finding another blue box under several layers of tissue. It was wrapped with the signature white bow and had a small white envelope tucked neatly underneath its center. She removed the envelope out, giving him a look.

"Nikki Stephanos? Is that your final answer?" She asked playfully.

"I can't think of anyone else."

Jennifer opened the envelope, smiling as she silently read the short message written on the card within.

"I should take you to Vegas." She handed the card to Jonathan with a smile.

" _Enjoy every precious moment. Love, Nikki and Adrien._ " He read aloud.

"Very sweet." Jennifer pulled the white silk bow off the box and peeked inside. She found an exquisite sterling silver baby rattle, round and bearing the image of the man in the moon.

"Isn't it beautiful?" She held it up to Jonathan.

"I didn't know Tiffany's catered to the diaper set." Jonathan took the rattle, turning it over in his hands.

"This is unexpected, but very thoughtful."

"Nikki is a class act." Jonathan handed the rattle back to her.

"She certainly is. You'll have to track down her address so we can send her a thank you note."

"I'll get Deanne on it first thing Monday morning."

"If you make to the office Monday." She quickly turned away from him, reaching for a tissue as she sneezed.

"Are _you_ going to make it 'til Monday?"

"I'm fine. Stop worrying."

"Worrying about you is my favorite pastime."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Dear LP,_

 _Thirty nine plus weeks and no sign that you're ready to leave the confines of my uterus. It must be really cozy in there, because you've all but given up your fetal gymnastics. I guess your baby condo is quickly running out of square footage. I hate to rush you but we're all very eager to meet you and celebrate what will be the happiest day on our calendar—your birthday. Grandpa flew in yesterday afternoon and you know how impatient he is. Let's not keep him waiting too much longer. He settled all his affairs just to be here with you from the moment you take your first breaths. I can hardly believe that we're almost to the forty week mark. The Easter Bunny arrives tomorrow—will you? Or will Daddy and Uncle Max loose their bets? From the time Dr. Sumner confirmed your due date, they've been convinced that you would arrive on Easter Sunday. Let's keep them in the black, shall we?_

 _I've spent the majority of today in bed, still battling this allergy. My Three Stooges have done their best to keep me fed and entertained. Barbara stopped by with her famous chicken soup for lunch, Daddy and I watched an old movie together, and your grandfather and I looked through some old photo albums that he brought with him—photos of when I was a baby. It's amazing how much your grandmother and I favor. The pictures of her holding me are how I see myself holding you. God, she was so beautiful. I wish she could be here with us. But I know that all I'll have to do is look up into the sky on the day of your birth and the heavens will convey her deepest feelings. Rain or shine, cloudy or clear, she'll be so happy. I know she's keeping your soul close to her heart, just waiting for the perfect moment to send you down to us because that's what angels do._

 _I wish you could see your father in action. He's been feathering the nest for the last week, making sure that everything's in order. He's packed and repacked his bag for the hospital (yes, he plans on spending the night). Your car seat has been checked and double checked. He's strategically placed diapers and wipes all over the house in an effort to save time. And he's worn the cover off his copy of "What to Expect." I don't know what I've enjoyed more, watching my belly or watching him. And I don't know what I'm looking forward to more, watching you or watching him watching you. I do know that I plan to take some very good and timely advice: I will enjoy every precious moment because I know they will be but tiny drops of time. They will rain down on us hard and fast, and then will dissolve and disappear like a mist. And never will I be so happy to walk through life without an umbrella!_

 _I've spent the last few days thinking about the influence your father has had on me. Without a doubt, he's the single most important person in my life. Everyday his love molds me into a better person. I don't know why, but for a very long time I thought that I would never experience the blessings that I'm currently enjoying. I've always known that I'm basically a good person on the inside. I'm honest, fair, hard-working, and kind to all animals and most people. But the fairy tale was something I never considered. It's not that I didn't see myself as worthy. I just always pictured myself on another road. And now, your father and I will take each other hands and step onto a new road. A road that's well traveled, but one that our feet have never touched. And though I won't have a map to guide me, I will look to your father to be my compass._

 _I love you, I love you, I love you,_

 _Mommy_

XXXXXXXXXX

"Darling, can I get you anything?" Jonathan called from the bathroom.

"An anesthesiologist and some forceps?"

"Not funny." He walked back into their bedroom. "Would you like a backrub or one of my famous foot massages?" He reached over and rubbed her foot tenderly.

"You know what would really help us relax?"

"What?"

"If you read to us." She rested her hands on her belly.

"One bedtime story coming up." He gently crawled off the bed and slipped quietly out of their bedroom. Within a moment he was back, carrying several books and wearing a huge smile.

"Take your pick. _Goodnight Moon_ , _Where The Wild Things_ _Are_ , or my personal favorite, _Anatole."_

They're all classics, but I love Anatole."

"The honorable rodent with a penchant for tasty French fromage? Excellent choice." Bending down, he spoke in a soothing tone with his lips hovering just above Jennifer's belly.

"Testing…one, two, three. Can you hear me in there?"

"I think he's ready. At least I hope he is. He's been very still today. Too still." Jennifer gave herself a pat.

"Well what started out as a mansion is now a one room flat."

"Do you think he's okay?"

"He's fine. Very cramped quarters in there."

"I know you're right, but I worry."

"See? It's easily your favorite pastime too." He winked. "Now, with or without my best French accent?" He asked, holding up the children's book.

"Avec l'accent, naturellement." She shared a smile.

Jonathan read the story aloud to her, making her laugh with his silly character voices. Just like the day when he'd read _The Age of Innocence,_ she knew exactly where she belonged—lying beside him, sharing special moments. She was just beginning to relax when she felt an unusual tightening inside. It was completely different from the Braxton-Hicks contractions she'd experienced. It wasn't painful exactly, but it didn't feel normal. She grabbed Jonathan's hand, keeping her body totally still.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"I don't know." She responded in a whisper.

The words had barely left her mouth when she looked down and watched the contortions of her pregnant form. She felt as though every abdominal muscle was being pulled to its limit. Squeezing his hand firmly, she held her breath.

"Are you having a contraction?"

"I don't think so. This is nothing like what I've been having."

"But Dr. Sumner said they'd be more intense." He checked the clock, making a mental note of the time.

"I don't know what just happened but I don't think it was a contraction."

"Are you in any pain?"

"No, not really. I just feel like my stomach muscles have been pulled in two different directions. Almost like my uterus did a complete flip." She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on her breathing.

"Well let's lay here and see if it happens again." He rubbed his thumb gently across her hand.

The lay together in silence for what seemed like an eternity. After ten uneventful minutes, Jonathan spoke.

"You haven't felt anything?"

"Nothing."

"And you're not in any pain?"

"No."

"I think if you were going into labor, you'd have had another contraction by now."

"I'm telling you, that was not a contraction."

"Then what was it?"

"I have no idea. But I certainly hope it doesn't happen again."

"Maybe LP's just moving further down into position."

"Maybe." She didn't sound convinced.

"Do you want to finish reading?"

"Would you mind if we just turned out the lights?"

"Okay." He could see the worry in her eyes.

The book was placed on his bedside table and he clicked the lamp off. He slipped his arm underneath her pillow and pulled her close. Resting her head on his shoulder, she tried to relax. He could feel how tense she was and he gently stroked her arm.

"Everything's going to be okay. Let's try to get some sleep okay?" His tone conveyed nothing but love and comfort.

"I'll try." She sighed heavily, closing her eyes.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jennifer turned over and looked at the clock again. Sleep had come easily to her husband and he lay completely still. She, on the other hand, had spent the last two hours unable to give herself over to dreams. From the time he'd turned out the light, she'd wrestled with the words of Dr. Sumner over and over in her mind. _If something doesn't feel right, then get yourself to the hospital. The worst thing that will happen is that we send you home._

She curled up on her left side, cradling her pregnant form. Focusing all her attention on the baby inside her, she spoke to him in a whisper.

"Just give me a sign. Just a tiny little kick and then I'll go right to sleep, I promise."

She lay watching the clock for another five minutes, with no response from LP. With every second that passed, she could feel the anxiety growing within and she knew it was time.

"Jonathan?" She turned over and touched his arm.

"Is it time?" He asked in a groggy voice.

"I don't know. But something doesn't feel right."

"Did it happen again?" He sat up, turning the lamp back on. The light on her face illuminated nothing but fear.

"No, but I just don't feel right." She continued to keep her hands firmly around her stomach.

"Are you in any pain whatsoever?" He asked again.

"No, but _—_ " She struggled to find the right words.

"Jennifer, I'm sure it's nothing. You're going to feel worse if you don't stop worrying and try to get some rest."

"I can't rest. I think we should just go."

"To the hospital?"

"Yes." She nodded, clearly distressed.

"Alright, Darling." He brushed her hair off her forehead before kissing it softly.

The ride to the hospital was not unlike the ride they'd made once before. Jennifer rested her head against the window, staring out into the darkness without a sound. Again, Jonathan left her alone with her thoughts for several minutes as he sorted out his own. He'd never known her to be irrational or melodramatic during her pregnancy. Even when they'd made that first late night journey to the hospital following the bleeding, she'd been surprisingly calm. Before and after the cerclage, she'd remained tranquil and composed. His mind raced back through the final pages of the pregnancy guide—the section on the phases of labor in particular. _Maybe this is it? Maybe she was having a contraction earlier, only didn't know it? How would she know for sure? We have nothing to compare it to. This might be it. In a few hours, we might be holding our Little Prince._

And with that thought, Jonathan felt himself relax for the first time since Jennifer woke him. It was then he realized that fatherhood was probably no more than a few hours away.

"Happy Easter, by the way." He broke the silence, taking her hand in his.

"Well you called it. You said Easter from the get-go and here we are on our way to the hospital. I really think this is it."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. Just scared."

"I know you are. But I'll be right with you every step of the way, I promise." He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly.

He offered to drop her at the entrance to the ER, but she insisted on walking with him from the parking area. Again, he'd opted for tradition and left a note for Stephen and Max. Birthing babies is an unpredictable business, and they agreed it was best to let them sleep. Jonathan made a written promise to call as soon as they had more concrete information. They walked hand in hand straight to the elevators, bypassing the bedlam inside the ER. Unsure of what lie ahead, he decided to leave their bags in the car. He held her hand and smiled reassuringly as they made the short trip up. As the doors opened, his hand found its comforting and protective place on the small of her back as they stepped in the labor and delivery area of the hospital.

The floor was quiet, with only one nurse keeping vigil at the nurses' station. She looked up from her paperwork with a pleasant smile as they approached the desk.

"Good morning." She greeted them.

"Good morning. The name is Hart. Jennifer Hart." Jonathan leaned against the counter.

The nurse nodded and entered the information in the computer in front of her. After a brief moment, she smiled up at them in confirmation.

"How far apart are your contractions?" She looked at Jennifer.

"Actually, I'm not having contractions. I had a very unusual tightening—a stretching really—of my stomach muscles. It felt like my uterus did a back flip."

"What time was this?"

"About ten o'clock."

"Any pain or discharge?"

"No. But Dr. Sumner told me that if something didn't feel right to come in. And that certainly didn't feel right."

"Okay. We'll get you into the examination area and get you checked out. I'll page Dr. Sumner and let him know you're here." She glanced at the large Dry-Erase board on the wall behind her. "He just finished a delivery about twenty minutes ago, so he's not far."

Picking up the phone, she dialed a number and waited for several seconds before entering a code. Replacing the receiver, she smiled up at them once more.

"He should be checking in shortly. Let's head on back."

They followed the nurse into the very same area they'd been placed prior to the cerclage. The nurse excused herself momentarily while Jennifer changed into a light blue gown. After a minute or two, the same nurse returned, carrying a hand held Doppler stethoscope along with a file folder.

"You were here not long ago for a cerclage?" The nurse asked.

"Yes we were." Jonathan answered.

"And your stitches have been removed, is that correct?"

"Yes." Jennifer nodded.

"Lie back for me." The nurse removed a bottle of ultrasound gel from a warming bin and shook it vigorously. She applied a large amount on Jennifer's belly and gently rolled the transducer around in it.

"When was the last time you felt movement?"

"I guess around dinner time."

"Was that six o'clock? Seven?" She continued to move the transducer.

"About six thirty."

"Why aren't we hearing anything?" Jonathan asked nervously.

"I'm not sure." The nurse moved the transducer more slowly.

"Is something wrong?" Jennifer asked, unable to hide the alarm in her voice.

"Not necessarily. The baby may have turned in an awkward position, and that would explain the strange stretching sensation you experienced. The heartbeat is not registering with this instrument—which is probably nothing more than technology failure. Believe me, it happens. Let me switch this one out with another one." She offered Jennifer a smile, then quickly excused herself once more, pulling the curtain behind her.

"Jonathan?" Jennifer looked up at him with eyes full of panic.

"Now let's stay calm. You heard what she said. She'll try another monitor and then we'll know more. Okay?" He tried his best to mask the fear in his voice as he smoothed her hair back off her forehead with a loving touch. Looking down at her, he smiled sweetly, desperate to project a sense of serenity. At that very moment, he could hear Dr. Sumner's voice behind the curtain and he breathed deeply in relief.

"Once again, it seems as though you'll make good on your bet." Dr. Sumner pulled the curtain as he entered the small examination area.

"Well, we're erring on the side of caution, but if we do delivery today, then I stand to make a killing off this." Jonathan shook his hand.

"Tell me about this stretching sensation, Jennifer." He located a pair of latex gloves in a drawer as the nurse returned with a rolling cart of computer instrumentation. Though his words and tone conveyed calm, his body moved with hasty motion. And Jonathan picked up on it immediately.

"It was about ten o'clock. We were lying in bed reading when I suddenly felt like my stomach muscles were being pulled in two different directions. It didn't hurt, but it didn't feel right either. I don't think it was a contraction."

"And it only happened one time? It hasn't happened again?"

"No." She shook her head.

"We're going to try a more sensitive fetal monitor, along with one to monitor any uterine contractions. Sometimes the hand held Dopplers are less than cooperative, but worth a shot in terms of convenience. We'll attach these straps around you and the sensors will register and record what's going on inside you. Now I need you to lie back, be completely still, breathe deeply, and concentrate on relaxing."

Jennifer complied as the nurse secured the bands around her. Dr. Sumner moved the sensors around for several seconds in an effort to locate the heartbeat they were all so desperate to hear. She looked up at Jonathan, still holding her breath as she waited for the comforting sound of LP's heart. After a minute, Dr. Sumner exchanged a knowing look with the nurse.

"I think your little guy may have turned breech and is experiencing some distress. We need to get you into the OR for a section right now."

"What?" Jennifer cried out, looking to Jonathan for support.

"You have to go _now_." Dr. Sumner's tone was now firm.

He turned back to the nurse, speaking to her in what Jonathan could only decipher as a foreign language. Their rapid verbal exchange of medical jargon became muffled, as a group of nurses entered their area in a matter of seconds. Commands and directives from Dr. Sumner brought a team together in what Jonathan could only describe as organized chaos. Thousands of questions rang out like shots in his mind, but there was no time to ask them. In the next minute, he found himself jogging alongside the gurney toward the double doors to the OR. One of the nurses quickly entered the admittance code on the keypad, and Dr. Sumner turned to Jonathan.

"I'll let you know first thing." He placed his hand on Jonathan's shoulder.

"But I'm coming with you."

"No I'm sorry, but you have to wait her. I promise to take good care of her."

"Jonathan, you can't leave me." She held out her hand to him as tears stung her eyes.

"I'll be right here, Darling. I'll be right here. You can do this." His own eyes filled with tears and he squeezed her hand tightly. He bent down and kissed her forehead, then tried his best to smile. Their hands slipped apart as the team rolled the gurney away, and Jonathan watched through the small window until he could no longer see her.

He stood alone at the doors for a moment, trying to process the unexpected turn of events. The pictures he'd created in his mind over the past nine months were suddenly blown away like a flower on a beach. He'd never considered being anywhere other than right beside her when their child entered the world. Never thought that their journey would end with an emergency. One word played over and over in his mind, as he slowly walked back and forth outside the doors to the OR. _Distress, distress, distress…_

A nurse approached him, trying to coax him into the waiting area with an offer of hot coffee. He had no words for her, only responding with a shake of his head. Reaching inside his pocket, he rested his fingers on his cell phone in hesitation. He knew he needed to call them, though wasn't sure if he could speak. He tried to draw a deep breath, but the tightness in his chest prevented him. He continued to pace and the walls of the hallway closed in on him with each step. Another minute passed and his phone rang, jarring him back to consciousness.

"Yes." He whispered.

"Is everything okay?" His father-in-law asked with a panicked tone.

"She's in surgery now." His voice cracked.

"We'll be right there."

XXXXXXXXXX

 _"Well, you have to pick a pocket."_

 _"I'm guessing it's still not golf clubs."_

 _"No, smaller than golf clubs. Much smaller."_

 _"I'll take that one."_

 _"You're sure?"_

 _"I'm sure."_

 _She pulled out a small white stick, handing it to him with a smile._

 _"What's this? Is this what I think it is?"_

 _"Yes it is."_

 _"So you're?"_

 _"Pregnant. I'm pregnant."_

 _"Are you sure?"_

 _I'm absolutely sure. You, me, the Kid here...instant family."_

He leaned against the wall in the waiting area, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were closed to the outside world, but his mind's eye replayed the tender scene they'd shared in their honeymoon suite in London. He could still see the sparkle in her autumn eyes, wet with joyful tears. The same eyes that were pulled away from his in a fearful rush just minutes before. He'd relented to the nurse's request, retreating to the waiting area, but still denying offers of snacks or beverages. Checking the clock on the wall, the thirty minutes she'd been away from him had seemed like hours. He expected Max and Stephen any moment and longed for their familiar and understanding faces. He motioned to the nurse at the main desk, but was only met with a shrugging of her shoulders. _God, when will they let me know?_

Five more minutes passed and the nurse approached him once more. "Dr. Sumner will be out to see you shortly."

"Is she okay?" Jonathan asked.

"I wasn't given any information, sir. I'm sorry. It should be just a minute or two." She smiled at him with friendly reassurance.

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair and walked briskly toward the OR. With every step, he prayed another silent prayer, begging God to keep his greatest treasures safe. He rounded the corner just as Dr. Sumner passed through the double doors. He stopped, slowly pulling the colorful surgical cap from his head. Their eyes met, and instantly he knew. The deafening reverberation that echoed with ear-splitting clarity throughout the hospital could only mean one thing.

The other shoe fell.

 **TBC**

 **If you hate, let me know by way of a review.**


	23. Chapter 23

_"Do you ever get the feeling that you're living a charmed life?"_

 _"Define charmed."_

 _"Do you ever think that your life is just too good?"_

 _"You mean waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop?"_

 _"Exactly."_

 _"No."_

 _"Not even a little bit?"_

 _"I prefer to think of my life as blessed, not charmed. Charms can wear off, but a blessing can last forever."_

 _"I guess this whole pregnancy thing has caused my worrying hormones to kick into overdrive. I worry all the time."_

 _"Why have you never told me?"_

 _"Well, I don't know. Mostly because I'm sure that most of my fears are irrational ones."_

 _"Such as?"_

 _"I have this fear of something happening to you or the baby."_

 _"Nothing's going to happen to us."_

The wipers on the black limousine flapped in rapid rhythm, trying to clear the rain water from the surface of the windshield. The caravan of vehicles, all headlights blazing, was short—just an intimate gathering of their closest friends and family. He wasn't surprised that the morning sky above them was dark and menacing. The last five days of his life had been exactly the same. Black. Ominous. A complete absence of light. He'd staggered through solemn shadows on tangled legs with twisted thoughts that were not his own. The black cancerous bugs that once haunted his dreams now burrowed deep inside, eating away at him—making coherent thought virtually impossible. Though he'd fought to focus his mind with extreme concentration, he'd been unable to see anything in front of him for days. The loss of their son had left him blind to the days ahead, yet he could see with complete lucidity what lay behind him,on a trail wet with tears. Every thought, every word, and every happy moment that preceded Easter Sunday had been filled with hope and laughter and light. And remembering was now all he could do, as he replayed that fateful conversation they'd shared at their cabin hideaway over and over in his mind.

Jennifer sat quietly beside him. Her large sunglasses—a feeble attempt to hide the hurt. She'd spoken only a handful of words that morning, moving through the rooms of their home with an eerie silence. Her form appeared to be almost ghostlike. He could see her and he knew she was there but she wasn't _really_ there. Her eyes were dark and hollow, signs that autumn had moved on and nothing but the bleakest of winters remained. She'd done little more than sleep since their return from the hospital, though none of it truly restful. Their home overflowed with concerns and sympathies from friends and business associates, but Jennifer stayed hidden. She balanced on the edge of consciousness and dreams, as the sedatives inside her body worked feverishly to mask the pain. The door to her innermost was now locked up tight and he wondered if he'd ever be allowed inside again. He reached down for her hand, lacing his fingers tightly in hers. Giving it a squeeze, he waited for her response to his loving touch. He got none.

Stephen sat on the other side of his daughter, a protective arm around her shoulder. He'd been their rock—taking care of the necessary arrangements and details that Jonathan's clouded mind couldn't process. The outspoken, staunch British gentleman that he portrayed to the world quickly melted away as he comforted both of them with something they desperately needed and something that could only come from him—the unconditional love of an understanding parent. And though he grieved for the loss of his grandchild, Jonathan knew the anguish that had drawn even more lines on his face was guided by the hand that ached for his only child. He'd been right there, matching Jonathan tear for tear as they'd stood together beside Jennifer's hospital bed giving a rational explanation for something that was anything but rational. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. And now, he was en route to do the second hardest.

Glancing across his shoulder, Jonathan checked the procession. Max and Barbara rode in the second limousine behind them, along with Sarah and Michael and Patsy. Behind them, Archer and Diane. Just five cars trailed them, and thankfully, no sign of reporters. He had Archer to thank for that, as he'd volunteered to make a statement on their behalf to the press. Theirs had been the lead story on Entertainment Tonight the evening they returned home from the hospital and news of the loss was splashed all across the Internet. He knew too well that with fortune came a degree of celebrity. But on this day, he wanted nothing more than to divorce himself from his last name and all that it implied. Today he wasn't Jonathan Hart, power player in the world of international business. Today he was someone's father. A daddy to a beautiful baby boy. A boy that would never walk beside him, but would travel to worlds above, discovering the stars. Today was the day he would officially give his son back to God.

As the car approached the entrance to the memorial park, the rain finally began to subside, though the storm inside his soul raged. He could still see with perfect clarity the moment when his world fell apart. How without a word, Dr. Sumner had motioned to a door leading to an empty family room just off the hall to deliver the news he'd never expected to hear. He'd sat down across from him, nodding with a blank expression as he feigned attentions to his debrief. Dr. Sumner's calm tone eliminated the need to make additional queries or request clarifications, as his explanation of the events of that final hour were, to his horrific dismay, crystal clear. He'd heard nothing more than a few medical terms as he sat frozen in silence: _distress, breech, nuchal cord, Type A, accident._ Just a handful of words that meant nothing separately, but when placed together, created his worst nightmare as Fate unexpectedly and cruelly extinguished the light that had illuminated his path for nine beautiful months. The walls of the small room had grown dark, closing in on him in much the same way the hallway just beyond the door had moments after Jennifer had been taken away from him. He could still recall the feeling—one of being pulled away from the hospital—sucked inside a black tunnel without an ounce of light. He knew that at any moment, his heart would pound through his chest, and the words that burned holes on his brain would rush out and swallow him up in a sea of nothingness. _This can't be happening…This can't be happening!_ Resting his head in his hands, he'd leaned against the table in front of him for support. Dr. Sumner moved his chair closer to Jonathan's, sharing what he'd intended to be a compassionate, sympathetic pat on the back. But his touch felt cold and foreign…and so had everything since.

They followed the hearse along the winding drive to the back of the cemetery where a single green tent had been erected. Two neat rows of white chair stood waiting like wooden soldiers. Though he'd made the drive there with Stephen and the funeral director the day before, it looked completely different, as if he were seeing it for the first time. The grounds were immaculately manicured, with everything fresh and green in the first breaths of spring. Statues of angelic cherubs dotted the landscape, keeping vigil over the tiny bodies that lay silently under the earth. The car slowed, and it was then that Jonathan spied a statue of a Madonna and child, sharing a tender embrace. His mind raced back in time once more to a restless night where he'd rushed frantically to save Jennifer and their baby, only to find them frozen in time. He turned his head slightly to the woman beside him. Hoping to find some minute sense of warmth, he was met only with a despondent stare, as his wife now resembled the statue from his dream more than ever.

He closed his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer just to make it through the next half hour. Forget living one day at a time. Forget most everything beyond the immediate present. Fate had left him in the dark, and he was now unable to calculate his next move in anything other than minutes. Would he even be able to get out of the limousine? The driver parked behind the hearse and Jonathan tried again, giving her hand another squeeze. With the little strength she had, she gave him a light squeeze in return along with a slight nod. It was the first positive response he'd seen from her, though to a passing stranger, it would have gone unnoticed. But the days and weeks ahead would be traveled on heavy legs…inch by inch…minute by minute…and he was more than thankful for the tiniest sign of encouragement from her.

Stephen exited the car first, stepping onto a dark green carpet that would lead the way to their places beneath the tent. He reached for his daughter's hand and helped her out. Jonathan followed, relieved that the rain had stopped for the moment. Looking up, he could see that the sky was no longer as foreboding as it had been when they left home. The clouds tried their best to conceal daylight. Jonathan only had to think back to Suzanne's letter to know the true nature of the day's weather. And now, as they prepared to say goodbye, she would welcome her grandson into her loving arms with warm and comforting rays of sunlight.

With his hand firmly on the small of her back, they made the short but difficult journey to the tent, and the tiny silver casket that waited for them. The air was still, but Jonathan could feel Jennifer shivering beneath his touch. Slipping his arm securely around her shoulder, he pulled her body close to his, resting his other hand inside his pocket. His fingers brushed against the tiny heart that he'd carried with him every day since Christmas. Taking it in his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed it repeatedly until they took their seats in the middle of the front row. Stephen resumed his place at Jennifer's right hand, while Max and Barbara sat to Jonathan's left. With his arm around Jonathan's shoulder, Max shared a loving, supportive pat, unable to hide his tears, as the remainder of the funeral party found their seats. Again his hand found Jennifer's, pressing the tiny heart in her palm and waiting for words of comfort that would go unheard.

The priest from their parish stepped forward, wearing a consoling yet tranquil expression. The absence of sound was deafening and Jonathan could feel himself growing light-headed. Looking into the eyes of tearful mourners, the priest spoke in a soothing, peaceful tone. It was then that Jonathan drifted away, as he disconnected his heart and mind from the scene playing out before him. His body remained under the rain soaked tent, but his soul took a little prince by the hand and hid up in the heavens, exploring worlds beyond.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rolling over, his hand rested on her pillow and it took a few seconds for him to realize that he she wasn't beside him. Sitting up, he turned and eyed the clock with a sleepy gaze. Lying back, he tucked one arm underneath his head as he stared up at the ceiling, analyzing every sound that echoed through the quiet house. It had been ten days since they'd buried their son, and six straight mornings he'd opened his eyes and found she was gone.

The first time he woke up alone, he'd searched frantically for her. And he found her in the one place he never expected—curled up in LP's room, asleep on the twin sleigh bed. It was the first time he'd seen her face and body truly relaxed since the day they'd lost Lucien. He didn't wake her, but sat quietly in the rocking chair and watched her sleep. He'd come into the nursery only once by himself since the funeral, but the overwhelming feelings of loss and defeat were too much, leaving him totally drained. Yet as he'd watched Jennifer sleep, enjoying what appeared to be peaceful dreams, he was able to linger in the company of teddy bears and toy trains for a while. Somehow, being in the room with her made it okay even though she was completely unaware of his presence. He made sure to keep his visits to the nursery brief, not wanting to wake her, and keeping a safe distance from the tiny reminders of their baby boy.

He didn't hurry to get up, knowing she was just down the hall. Well, her body was anyway. Where her mind was, he had no clue. He could count the number of words they'd spoken to each other on one hand. She'd responded flatly to every question and request with as few words as possible, and never above a whisper. And the last time she'd initiated the conversation? He couldn't remember back that far. She'd retreated inside a shell and was wary to let anyone in—including him. He wanted to take her up in his arms and shield her from the worst the world had offered. But Jonathan knew she couldn't be rushed, just as he himself wouldn't be. They had grown to love the precious life that moved inside her for nine glorious months, and moving on would take time. How much time? If only he knew.

After ten minutes of committing every line in the ceiling to memory, he knew sleep wouldn't come again. He slipped silently from their bed and grabbed his robe, pulling it around his shoulders as he peeked inside LP's room. There, once again, he found her. He stood in the doorway, allowing the light from the hallway to cast his shadow on the wall behind the crib. Jennifer lay on her right side, facing the room; her mother's favorite antique quilt draped over her. He spied something around the index finger of her left hand. He crept quietly inside a couple of steps and smiled a faint smile when he made the discovery—the tiny ID bracelet from the hospital that encircled LP's ankle. He stood without breathing for a moment as he studied the fingers of her left hand. Her thumb and pinky were bear, yet the three fingers in the middle created a picture he recognized all too well. Her mother's ring in the middle, representing Jennifer's past. Her wedding ring, the large diamond sparkling brightly, representing the present and their life together. And the most precious ring of all, made of nothing but plastic and paper, resting on her index finger. A visual reminder of what was to be their future. A future that would now take a different direction.

Without a sound, he closed the door to the nursery and made his way downstairs in search of some coffee. But as he turned from the stairway toward the living room, he could see a hint of light coming from the kitchen, and knew he wasn't the only one awake. _Good ol' Max._ He rounded the corner, securing the belt of his robe around his waist. Looking up, he was surprised to find not Max but his father-in-law, already dressed and holding a cup of coffee along with an outdated copy of the London Financial Times. Stephen regarded him with a smile, motioning silently to the coffee maker. Jonathan nodded and took his advice, filling his favorite mug before joining him at the breakfast table.

"How'd you sleep?" Stephen asked.

"I'm guessing better than you. Its six-thirty and you're already dressed."

"Only because I never sleep well the night before I travel."

"I know what you mean." He blew small ripples in the hot coffee before taking a sip.

"Jennifer's still asleep?"

"Yes." He nodded.

"In your bed?"

"No. In the nursery."

It was Stephen's turn to nod, clearly concerned but not surprised by Jonathan's reply. For six days now she'd left her bed and her husband and finished out the night in LP's room. He'd dismissed the behavior the first two times it occurred, but six days, he decided, was beginning to have all the makings of a pattern—and one that he frankly felt might be unhealthy. For two weeks, he'd tried to reach his daughter, but all he could do was hold her in a sympathetic embrace as she'd refused to talk, sharing nothing more than tears openly. He glanced back down at the newspaper in front of him, trying to decide how best to initiate the conversation he'd wanted to have with Jonathan for several days. But fortunately he didn't have to, as his son-in-law made the first move for him.

"I don't want to push her, but she can't sleep in that room forever." He avoided Stephen's eyes, unsure if his comment would be met with acceptance or scorn.

"You're right." Stephen agreed.

"I've tried for days to get her to talk to me, but she won't. I guess she's not ready, but I don't know how long I can do this. The silence is killing me. I know it's only been two weeks. And the last thing I want to do is push her further away." Jonathan's voice cracked and he continued to stare down into his mug.

"You have been nothing but loving and supportive with her. The magnitude of what the two of you have been through cannot even be put into words." He paused. "Do you think maybe it's time you gave that doctor a call?"

"I don't know." He sighed heavily, feeling the emotion building inside him.

"It's a lonely feeling. I know because I've been there. But those feeling will pass. It won't be today or tomorrow or even next week. But every second that sweeps past the face of your inner clock will help you heal."

"Can I ask you something?" Jonathan looked up at him with red misty eyes.

"Certainly."

"How do you do it? All these years alone without Suzanne. How do you do it?"

"Not very well, I'm afraid."

"But you always seem so matter-of-fact about the whole thing. So… _composed_."

"It was all an act. A damn good one. It had to be."

"You think I should give that doctor a call? The one Dr. Sumner recommended?"

"I think it's a good idea. Not just for Jennifer, but for yourself."

"I don't think she'll see anyone yet."

"But it's worth a try. And maybe you have to lead by example." He reached out, resting his hand on Jonathan's with fatherly compassion.

He finished his coffee in silence while Stephen returned to the guest house to pack. He'd been a symbol of comfort and stability during the two weeks following the birth and death of their son and a much needed confidant for Jonathan, as he struggled to deal with not just his own pain but that of Jennifer's. As much as he hated to see him go, he knew it was the next step toward their collective recovery. Stephen had been their crutch, and it was time he and Jennifer tried walking on their own. Baby steps, of course. The first steps alone without their baby.

He stood at the sink, giving his mug a rinse before placing it in the dishwasher. Looking out the window, he could see the images he'd created for months. Splashing in the pool. Playing fetch with Freeway. Building a swing. Chasing butterflies. He'd spent months making memories to be. Now he'd spend years trying to forget.

He located Jennifer's favorite mug in the cabinet and poured a cup for her. It has always been part of their routine—waiting with a cup of her favorite blend when she exited the shower. The months of her pregnancy had been difficult, as she'd given up her morning coffee ritual. He could hear her quiet footfalls above him, and knew she was awake. It was still early, but they'd have to get moving to get Stephen to the airport on time. Though she hadn't said a word, he knew this would be another day of mourning for his wife as she watched her father board the plane for DC.

Slowly he climbed the stairs, hearing the sound of running water coming from their bedroom. _I guess she's already in the shower_. It was a good sign, as most days she didn't even make it downstairs until noon. He tried to imagine the car ride home from the airport, wondering if Stephen's departure might some how be a catalyst for conversation. There was so much he wanted to say. _Maybe we just need to be alone…totally alone…away from this house and every reminder of LP._ _If I could just get her to look at me…really look at me and know that we will find our way through this together…_

He'd taken only a few steps into their bedroom when he heard her. The noise of the shower did little to hide her pain, as Jonathan stood just outside the entrance to their bathroom listening as her tears fell as hard as rain. His heart beat wildly and he felt strangely intrusive. He stood frozen for a minute, her steaming mug of coffee still in his hand, and debated. He wanted to pull her wet body from the shower and wrap her up tightly inside his love and hide away with her—crying collective tears that needed to be shed. Aside from their time at the hospital, they'd grieved alone, and not by Jonathan's choosing. He tried to comfort her, but she neither responded nor reciprocated. Thinking back to the conversation he'd just finished in the kitchen, he made his decision and turned quietly away. He placed the coffee mug on the bedside table and tried to recall the name of the psychologist that Dr. Sumner had suggested he call. Dr. McNeff? McNabb? It was Mc-Something, but he couldn't remember. Jonathan opened the drawer of his bedside table in search of the business card Dr. Sumner had left with them. And that's when he saw them. The letters. _His_ letters. Dozens of them. Written on everything from notebook paper to Hart Industries letterhead…cocktail napkins to discarded junk mail. It had been over two weeks since he'd written a letter to his son, and seeing the stack of his most private thoughts in front of him caused his heart to beat even faster. He stared at them for a moment then selected one at random. Sitting down on the edge of their bed, he began reading the words that he'd penned months before. He couldn't believe they belonged to him. Of course he recognized his handwriting. Of course he remembered writing them. But the words themselves didn't sound like him. These words had been written by someone else. Another man. A man who'd recorded his most intimate thoughts about love and life and commitment. A man who wrote with a tone of purest hope and matchless optimism for embracing all that life had to offer. A man who resigned himself not to be controlled by fear, but to live each moment for what it was: a gift. Jonathan knew the man—knew him well. They'd been extremely close at one time, but not anymore. And with each day that'd followed a rainy morning spent under a green tent, the distance between them had grown to such a degree that his old friend was now almost unrecognizable. Quietly, he folded the letters, returning them to the drawer.

Lying back on the bed, his thoughts ebbed and flowed with bit and pieces of conversations he'd shared with the people he cared most about. Jennifer. Stephen. Max. Waves of memories, one after another, crashed upon the jagged rocks inside his bewildered mind, as he tried to make sense of the world around him. Their peaceful journey in the sun had turned into a horrendous storm and still he sat in the dark. He closed his eyes and saw himself back in Max's hospital room, sharing an exchange that now seemed to be more chilling prophecy than comforting conversation…

 _"If you had it to do all over again, would you still place that same bet?"_

 _"_ _A wise man once said 'Faith is like electricity. You can't see it, but you can see the light.' That part of my life—Maggie's part—has been dark for a long time. But I had a chance to be in the light—to live in the light for just a little while. And it was bright and shining and made everything around me glow. Would I give back those few days of light? Not on your life."_

 _"I know you loved Maggie very much and you had to give her back. How'd you do it, Max? I don't know how I could."_

 _"You could do it, because some is better than none. But I pray that you'll never have to find out. When God turned out the light on me, I sat in the dark for a while. Then, he sent me this little flashlight."_

 _"Yeah, well…a little punk for a flashlight."_

 _"When He closes a door, he opens a betting window. God invented the racehorse, you know. Lots of races to run, Mr. H. Sometimes He lets you pick 'em and sometimes He picks 'em for you."_

He was so far away in his thoughts that he didn't hear Jennifer enter their bedroom. She stood beside the bed, staring at him with vacant eyes. Drops of water from her hair dripped on the carpet, and she held a towel around her damp body. Her face showed all the classic signs of sorrow: the redness on her eyes and nose. He barely recognized her. She didn't look like his wife. And seeing her standing before him, so pale and delicate, he'd never been more afraid in his life.

"Are you okay?" He asked, crawling across the bed toward her.

"I need to sit down for a minute. I guess the shower was a little too hot. I feel kind of dizzy." It was the most consecutive words she'd spoken in days, though they conveyed little emotion.

"Here, Darling…" He held her hand and helped her to their bed.

"Thank you." She whispered, but avoided eye contact.

"Let me get you some water." He offered.

"I smell coffee."

"I brought you a cup. Do you want it?"

"Yes." She nodded weakly.

Jonathan rounded the bed and reclaimed her mug. Bringing it back, he smiled down at her, hoping for further interaction. She took the cup from his hand and nodded once more, taking a sip with eyes closed. He could see her shivering as the water from her hair continued to drip onto her shoulders and down her back. Quickly he retrieved a fresh towel from the bathroom and returned to her. Sitting down beside her, he dried her back and shoulders, though he could feel her body stiffen beneath his touch. Gently, he squeezed the ends of her hair in the towel, trying his best to help her relax. With a tender touch, he ran his fingers though the layers of her wet hair, smoothing it back away from her face. She turned her face to his as he rubbed his thumb softly along her cheek. Their eyes connected and for a moment, he could see her. It lasted only a split second, but looking into her eyes, he could see the woman he fell in love with—full of life and spirit. The woman who brought out the best in him. The only person to truly heal his heart. And then, as if blowing out the flame of a candle, it was gone. Without a word, she stood and walked back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

XXXXXXXXXX

The hour long ride to the airport was fairly quiet, with all passengers keeping to light topics. Jennifer contributed little, and only when asked. Jonathan wondered if he would be able to stand the silence on their return trip. She'd made only modest offerings in terms of conversation over breakfast. Stephen and Max continually traded concerned looks, and everyone quietly avoided the elephant in the kitchen as they'd finished up their last meal together before Stephen's departure.

LAX was alive and bustling; the foot traffic creating stress for all travelers. Jennifer walked alongside her father, her arm linked securely in his. Jonathan walked a few steps behind, giving them a cushion of privacy as they made their way to the security checkpoint. All of Stephen's bags had been checked, and he carried nothing other than his hat, his jacket, and a copy of the Times that he'd quickly purchased at a nearby newsstand. He'd tried to imagine what their goodbye scene would entail, knowing that Jennifer would probably not be the only one in tears as they headed back to the car. The traffic in and around the airport had them pushing it and a long goodbye would not be feasible. Checking his watch, he saw that Stephen had just a few minutes to get through security and up to the gate. They stopped short of the checkpoint and Stephen turned to his daughter. He offered a smile that promptly faded, as tears rolled down his face. He held Jennifer in a tight embrace, silently sharing the multitude of emotions they'd experienced over the past two weeks. Jonathan watched as they stood together, their bodies shaking as they cried tears for each other and for the loss of a dream. And though he tried, Jonathan was unable to stop the tears from reaching his own eyes.

"Life's a tough teacher, my darling girl. It gives the test first…" His voice cracked and trailed off, and he ran his hand lovingly through her hair.

"And then the lesson." She whispered through her tears.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Dear Lucien,_

 _I should be holding you right now instead of this pen. I should be looking into your dark blue eyes, whispering secrets and singing lullabies to you. I should be laughing with joy as I watch Uncle Max read the sports page to you in baby talk. I should be smiling with pride as your grandfather shares silly stories and his recipe for the perfect martini. I should be filled with immeasurable bliss as I watch your mother rock you to sleep. I should be spending my days and nights basking in the glow of every moment spent with you. I should be forgetting about meetings and clients and mergers because I'm too busy being a dad. I should be taking rolls and rolls of film, recording your every look and movement. I should be standing beside your crib for hours on end, just watching you sleep and marveling at how incredibly amazing you are. I should be joyful when your tiny cry wakes me in the middle of night. I should be a bore at every party I attend, because all I can do is talk incessantly about you. I should be rushing home from work each day because I can't wait to hold you. I should be striking up conversations with complete strangers, discussing the latest baby gadgets and comparing brands of diapers. I should be looking into the faces of other babies and knowing with absolute certainty that you are the most beautiful of all. I should be obsessed with baby-proofing our home so that you are always safe. I should be trading in The Wall Street Journal for American Baby magazine. I should be checking your bathwater three times to make sure the temperature is just right. I should be rubbing a drop of your baby shampoo in my own eye first to make sure "tear free" is just that. I should be moved by every human interest story I hear that involves parents and children. I should be playing Peek-A-Boo with you, feeling my heart melt when you squeal with delight. I should be falling asleep on the sofa with you curled up peacefully on my chest. I should be crying when the pediatrician gives you your first shots because what hurts you hurts me. I should be writing down every milestone, knowing in my heart that you are truly advanced beyond that of other infants. I should be thinking in terms of your future instead of my own. I should be contemplating my wrath should anyone dare bring harm to you. I should be focused on your every need, because they are so much more important than my own. I should be falling asleep every night wondering how I ever survived without you in my life. I should be doing all these things and infinitely more, my beautiful boy, but I'm not._

 _I keep hearing Uncle Max's voice in my mind. "Some is better than none," he once told me, recalling the days he stood in the light with his beautiful young wife. I've thought a lot about the conversation we shared a year ago while I waited to find out your mother's fate—if cancer might take her from me. Will there ever be a day when I look back on the words Max spoke to me and see the truth in them? I long for the day when I am finally able to realize that some truly was better than none, though I can't see it now. Some was not what I banked on. Some is not enough for me. I know in the deepest recesses of my heart that having you in my life, no matter how brief our time, was the most supreme blessing of my existence. But until that day comes, when I can share Max's word with someone who aches, and speak them with a tone of complete honesty, I will fumble in the dark with my hands outstretched in front of me, feeling along the walls of my life for a light switch._

 _I will never forget the moment I first saw you. I have never known my heart to be so full. Perfect. That's the only word that fully describes you. Absolutely perfect. Your feet. Your hands. Your features. Everything. The nurses at the hospital gave you a bath and dressed you in a tiny white gown. You were wrapped in a soft blanket and wore a little striped hat on your perfectly shaped head when they placed you in my arms for the first time. Gorgeous. That's what all the nurses called you. But you were beyond gorgeous. I sat in a special room with you for almost two hours, just holding you and rocking you and singing Mommy's favorite songs to you. As I looked at you and studied your face, I couldn't decide who you looked like. But Mommy knew. She held you and rocked you and compared every part of you to every part of me. And that made it official. Like father, like son. Lucien Pascal Hart. L.P. Our Little Prince. Our greatest treasure. Lucien, meaning light. And Pascal, because just as I predicted, you arrived on Easter Sunday. You truly were Sunday's Child—full of grace._

 _We held you for two days—me, your mother, your grandfather and Uncle Max. Seeing the look of love in your mother's eyes as she memorized every detail of your face was the most beautiful moment of my life. And also the most heartbreaking, knowing that her hand would never caress your cheek again. Knowing that we would never again feel the softness of your skin, or drink in your heavenly scent. You were our silent little angel, and I lie awake in bed every night trying to imagine your laugh and your cry. What a symphony that would have been for my soul. But there is no music now. The only sounds around me are the sounds of my own disillusionment and your mother's tears that echo within her solitude. I feel like I'm losing her too. And I'm not ready to add her name to the list of those that have been lost. I know that with each passing year, that list will grow infinitely longer, and I am powerless to stop it._ _Jennifer's mother, Gavin Everett, Maggie, Doc, and now you my precious baby boy._ _I know that one day Stephen's name will find its way to the list. Max's another. Living is not without dying_. _I know that. But knowing something and accepting it are two different things. Your grandfather once told me that Fate has his hand in everything at once. It made sense to me at the time, but nothing makes sense anymore. Why? I've looked everywhere for the answer and it doesn't exist. I've searched the moon, the sun, truth, lies, Heaven, Hell, this house, bottles of Scotch, your mother's face, my mind, my dreams and my heart. I've written checks to the devil that my soul can't cash. I've made deals with God that I could never honor. I've screamed at the top of my lungs and no one heard. I've relived every moment in the light with you and your mother and I can't let go. I can't. I don't know how. If I could just have one more day with you—just one more day. Our time together was not enough. Even though I held you and kissed you and loved you, it just wasn't enough. I've searched every dark and shadowy place inside myself, trying desperately to understand and I can't. Day after day I try to look at this from different angle, but it always looks the same. I've found only one thing to be true. Just one thing remains constant as I beg God for some peace of mind: this was not the race I bet on. This was not the window I stood proudly at with a handful of priceless dreams. My race was a sure thing, and I bet it all._

 _I have only one wish now. One hope. One prayer. One need. Your mother is slipping away from me and I don't know what to do or how to bring her back. I can't even imagine the physical and emotional torment she's suffering right now—but I want to. I want to hold her and love her and help her through this. And I need those things from her. But she's hidden herself away from the world and from me. I know it's only been two weeks. I know this will take time. But I need her. I need her like I never have before. I know she's hurting because I'm hurting. I know she's angry because I'm angry. I know she feels lost, because my life has never seemed so dark. Every time my eyes meet hers, another part of me dies. The crisp leaves of autumn that once danced in her eyes have now blown away. I hear her crying in the shower. I reach out to touch her, but she turns away. I wake in the night to find she's left our bed. I want to tell her how I feel, but I'm afraid it's too soon. The last thing I want to do is push her further away from me. I've never felt more alone in my life. I lost you and I can't bear to lose her too._

 _You have brought something to my life that cannot be described with words. The love I feel for you will never die. You are the light that will always connect your mother and me. I know that you are up above us right now, sitting proudly on a star just as a little prince should. If I could ask one favor of you, as one of Heaven's littlest angels, please shine your light down on your mother so that she may be able to once again see our path and find her way back to me._

 _You'll always be my champ._

 _I love you forever,_

 _Daddy_

 **TBC**


	24. Chapter 24

_My Precious Jennifer,_

 _I know you've been expecting this. I've selfishly put it off too long. These are thoughts I should have shared with you before I left Los Angeles. But I don't believe you were ready to hear them anymore than I was prepared to say them. These are the words that I've kept hidden in the back of my mind. They've been there your whole life, collecting dust since the days after your mother died. Every parent carries these words—the ones they hope will bring comfort and understanding when their children experience the most heartbreaking of disappointments. It's every fathers' hope that he'll live out his years without ever having to speak them. Or write them. Or even think them. But in my life, it's not to be. I don't claim them to be the most profound nor the most eloquent. I only know the place from whence they come._

 _How does one define loss? Why do we even use that particular term? When someone loses something, don't they continue to search for it? To seek out its exact location so that they may be reunited with that which is missing? When we lost your mother, I tried frantically to find that which was missing. I searched every part of my soul and every bottle of vodka I could get my hands on. I was determine to get her back. I thought that somewhere within me I had the power bring her back. If I just prayed a little harder. Or screamed a little louder. Or cried a little longer. But what I didn't realize at the time was that she was already there. She was there—growing and thriving everyday in her beautiful garden. She was there—sitting atop a horse in the body of an innocent eleven year old girl. She was there—keeping my body warm as I lay underneath her favorite quilt. I wasted so many days and nights searching for something that had been right under my nose._

 _There are no guarantees in this life. And I know you understand this better than most. There are withered souls, roaming this planet for years who neither give nor receive an ouch of joy. And then there other souls. Those whose light seems to burn brightest. Souls with immeasurable joy to share with those around them. And for reasons unbeknownst to a man of seventy plus years, these are the ones who are taken from us before we're ready. Why? I have no explanation. No rationalization. No justification. And how I've long for those things—those answers—and so much more over the years. I'm still waiting. And I may never know. But there is one thing that time has revealed to me. And for now, it's more than enough. The days I spent with your mother, despite the fact they were mere wisps of time, we're the happiest of my life and worth every tear I've shed._

 _I don't believe I ever told you, but LP and I are quite close. The times we spent together now number among those precious moments I spent with your mother. We spent months engaged in a secret exchange of life's lessons and ideals. And I want you to know that my grandson's light brightened up every room in this quiet house. It breathed new life back into the walls and the floors and into me. I am enclosing a letter—one of many—that I wrote to LP. Again, you may think it nothing more than the ramblings of an old man, but every word comes from the place that guides my pen now. Every line is filled with love and hope—two things I pray you can still see in your own life. Should you wish to have the remaining letters, they will be here for you. There are all in a stack, tied up neatly with a light blue bow, just as your mother would have saved them. You may decided you want them tomorrow or next week. Or you may never request to see them. It doesn't matter to me. Only one thing truly matters now...that you know how much I dearly love you._

 _Every part of me,_

 _Pa_

She thought she'd be a wreck after reading her father's words, but she wasn't. And now, rereading it a second time, she found she was unusually calm. She could hear his voice in every line. And though the letter was short by Stephen's standards, he succeeded in delivering an honest message.

Her eyes traveled around the perimeter of their bedroom, surveying the traces of Jonathan. His books on the bedside table. His running shoes beside the chair. His briefcase, unopened, on the escritoire. They weren't just things. They were pieces of him. Just bits of him, lying around without much thought to their placement. She wanted to find some sort of comfort in them, knowing that they were extensions of him, but comfort was a feeling she couldn't embrace. There'd been a flash of it just hours before, when Jonathan returned home from his first day back at the office. He'd slipped into bed beside her and after a minimal exchange, his hand found her hair. And for that tiny moment in time, everything in her world was exactly as she wanted it to be. But the morning cast a bright light back on reality and the brief taste of solace she'd felt as Jonathan's fingers moved softly through her hair during the night melted away. Even as she'd stood in the nursery that morning reading the note he'd left for her, she couldn't separate herself from her pain to reach back out to him.

Glancing at the clock, she silently calculated the time until his return. The hot shower, the coffee, and the short walk with Freeway had not been enough. Now back in his robe, she buried herself in their bed. She held the small silver heart in her hand, rubbing it gently with her thumb and trying to remember the foreign concept formally known as happiness.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You can go in now, Mr. Hart." The receptionist smiled warmly.

"Thank you." He smiled back.

Dr. McNichol sat behind a large desk, making notes in a folder. She waved for him to enter, but didn't look up from her task. After a minute, she offered a hospitable smile.

"Mr. Hart, it's so nice to meet you." She stood, extending her hand to him.

"Thank you. And thanks for seeing me on such short notice."

"Sit down, please. May I take your jacket?" She motioned to a group of oversized club chairs in the corner. They were an inviting shade of dark blue, calm and welcoming.

"No, I'm fine." Jonathan positioned himself in a chair opposite Dr. McNichol.

"Now I'm guessing that you're the type of man who enjoys a good cup of coffee."

"That would be correct."

"Black or with cream?"

"Uh, just a touch of cream."

"Sugar?"

"Only a spoonful."

"Coming up." She pressed the intercom button on the small table beside her chair.

"Connie, could you bring a cup of mud and a blonde with sand? Thanks." She smiled at him again. "Sorry. Force of habit. I was a waitress at an all night diner back in my undergrad days."

Jonathan smiled and nodded, thankful for her relaxed and engaging character.

"Now then, why don't we begin with you telling me a little bit more about your phone message?"

"I didn't realize I'd said anything worthy of discussion."

"Your message sounded urgent. It was after midnight when you called."

"Well, the time was right."

"In what way?"

"In the fact that when I dialed your number this last time, I didn't hang up, as I've done countless other times in the past few weeks."

"So you've called before? But never spoke with anyone or left a message?"

"Yes."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know. Fear I guess."

"Fear of what?"

"Fear of this. Of having to do _this_." He pointed back and forth between the two of them.

"Are you afraid now?"

"No."

"There must have been some trigger that prompted you to follow through last night. Any idea what that might have been? Did something happen that suddenly changed your perspective?"

Jonathan thought back to the poignant thoughts Max had shared in the presence of the fifteen minute confession timer the night before.

"I looked at the hourglass of my life and saw that the sands were disappearing quickly. I knew it was time to call."

"Well, I think you're lucky to have recognized the sign. And I'm glad you made it in today."

"Thank you." He nodded once more.

The receptionist tapped lightly on the door, then entered carrying a tray. Two identical coffee mugs sat side by side, along with a plate of croissants and two linen napkins. Immediately his mind conjured up images of Jennifer and her craving for Max's pumpkin scones during her pregnancy.

"Thank you, Connie." Dr. McNichol smiled.

"Can I bring you anything else?" The receptionist asked with a smile.

"I think we're fine." She looked to Jonathan for confirmation. He reached for his mug, offering a nod of approval.

She backed quietly out of the room, leaving them alone. Jonathan took a sip of his coffee and wondered where the conversation would go next. He inspected the large clock on the wall. Only a few minutes of his fifty minute hour were gone, and they'd really only exchanged casual pleasantries. _How long 'til we get down to hardcore business?_

"If you had to sum up your reasons for being here today in one sentence, what would it be?"

 _Well she doesn't waste time, does she? Guess that answers my question._ Jonathan pondered her inquiry for a moment. One sentence. How could he sum up everything in one sentence? Was this another trick, like the cold questions that sniggered at him on the registration sheet he'd filled out the day before? Was he there for Lucien? For himself? Was it about control or letting go? His life had gone off the radar and there was only one thing to get him back on track. He leaned forward, returning his coffee mug to the tray. Resting his elbows on his knees, he laced his fingers together and looked up at Dr. McNichol with a desperate expression.

"I've lost my wife and I don't know how to get her back."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Hart Residence." Max answered.

"I'm on my way home."

"How'd it go?"

"Better than I thought. Dr. McNichol is wonderful. A very sharp woman."

"That's great, Mr. H. I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks."

"Now listen, why don't you just let me drive Jennifer out to meet you? Save you some time instead driving back here."

"No, I really want to drive her."

"I understand."

"Has she been down today?"

"She came down for coffee and even took Freeway outside for a short walk."

"You're kidding? She went outside?"

"She sure did. It was only a couple minutes, but it's something."

"That's the best news I've heard in weeks."

"I'll let her know that you're on the way. We'll see you in a bit."

Max hung up the phone, feeling better than he had in days. He'd killed a little time that morning puttering around the house, humming as he traveled from room to room. He didn't realize it, but he was practically dancing to the stairway a few minutes later, eager to let Jennifer know that Jonathan was on his way. _Maybe we're heading to the starting gate. Maybe they're getting ready to run this race._ _They've both taken big steps today. Maybe this is a sign of things to come._ He carefully navigated the stairs, trying not to step on Freeway as the dog jumped playfully beside him on every step. _Even you feel it too, don't you Boy?_

He could see their bedroom door was closed. At the landing, he paused and debated on which way to turn. He decided to check inside the nursery for her first. The door was open and the room quiet—with no sign of Jennifer. He backtracked to their bedroom, giving the door a light rap. As usual, no response. He knocked gently once more. Nothing. Taking the door knob in his right hand, he gave it a noiseless turn and peeked inside.

Though she'd showered and dressed early, she was now back in Jonathan's robe and back in bed. Her clothes lay discarded in a rumpled heap on the floor. The television was on, but the sound had been muted. A window across the room had been opened, and a light breeze blew the custom drapery in billowy ripples. She lay with her back to him, unaware of his presence. Max checked his watch. She needed to be ready to go as soon as Jonathan arrived. They would be cutting it close. He hated to wake her, but knew they needed to be on time.

"Mrs. H?" He whispered, walking around to her side of the bed. He was surprised to find that she wasn't asleep. "It's almost time to go. Mr. H will be here in a few minutes. Let me get your clothes for you." He returned to the end of the bed and retrieved her now wrinkled skirt and blouse. She didn't move or respond, but lay staring straight ahead.

"You want me to get you something else? These are a little wrinkled."

"I'm not going."

"You not going? But Mr. H is—"

"Please tell him to go on without me. I just don't feel very well." She cut him off, careful to avoid eye contact.

Max stood beside the bed, unsure what to do. He knew he couldn't force her, but watching her hide away for another day was something he just couldn't bear. Not for himself, and certainly not for Jonathan.

"But Mr. H is counting on you. He's been looking forward to being with you all day."

Again, he received nothing but silence. He walked into the dressing area, returning her clothes to two empty hangers in her closet. When he entered the bedroom once more, her eyes were closed and he knew that the discussion was officially over. Conceding defeat, he exited the room.

XXXXXXXXXX

"What do you mean she's not coming?" Jonathan closed the car door.

"That's what she said. She told me to tell you to go on without her because she's not feeling well."

"I don't get it. You said she came down for coffee and took a walk with Freeway."

"I'm just as shocked as you are. This has been her best day yet. I told her you were counting on her to be with you, but she won't budge. I'm really sorry. I know this must be so hard for you." He gave Jonathan a supportive pat on the shoulder.

"You think I should try and talk to her." He checked his watch.

"I don't think it'll do any good. She sounded pretty resolute. And I'd hate for you to be late. If you're late, they may go ahead without you."

"You're right. I just don't understand it. She seemed okay with it this morning before I left."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. I don't want Jennifer here alone. You stay. I should be back in less than an hour." He climbed back behind the wheel of the convertible, disappointed to be making the journey to the cemetery by himself. He could see the distress on Max's face, but deep down, he wasn't that surprised. He'd prepared himself to execute this task alone. It's how he now did everything—a shadow of his former self, flying solo.

Standing at the window, Jennifer pulled the sheers back and watched as her husband drove away. She stood completely frozen, watching until she could no longer see his car. For several moments she stood silent, twisting her mother's ring around her middle finger. Finally, she wrapped Jonathan's robe tightly around her body, closed the window and retreated back to the safe confines of their bed.

She reached once more for the letter she'd tried desperately to compose. Staring down at the blank piece of monogrammed stationary, she again asked herself the question to which she had no answer. Her mind wandered, drifting along the intricate floral pattern that adorned the edge of the page. She'd tried for days to put her thoughts down. To write—to do the one thing that had always brought clarity and purpose to her life. But the loss of Lucien had obscured clarity and tainted purpose. She knew Jonathan was calling to her—screaming for her to return. She could hear it in every word he spoke, his voice pleading earnestly for her to come back. She could see it with his every action. In the way her poured her a cup of coffee. In the way he folded and put away her nightgowns. In the way he silently ran his fingers through her hair in the middle of the night. But she'd climbed aboard a train she feared would never stop. And though she knew he'd follow her from station to station, she doubted her legs, heavy and numb, would carry her into his waiting arms.

She'd sat for weeks now, watching the world go by in a series of blurred photographs out the window. If she could just focus on one image. Just one scene of something happy. Something that might brush against the dark drapery of her innermost room, shedding a little light on what used to be. She didn't feel the tears in her eyes or on her cheeks, but came back to herself only when they fell onto her hands. Looking down she blinked, causing more tears to fall, distorting the elegant graphics that decorated her stationary.

She wiped her tears away and removed the cap from the pen. Then, as if taken over by some mystical force, she wrote the answer she'd been searching for. It had been there all the time…and it was nothing more than three little words.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

XXXXXXXXXX

"Time's up." Dr. McNichol smiled.

"It certainly slips by quickly, doesn't it?" Jonathan commented as he stood and retrieved his suit coat from the back of the blue chair.

"You're really making progress. I'm very proud of you."

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Actually, I think you're ready for a schedule change. Let's try Tuesdays and Thursdays next week. I think you're ready to drop a day."

"So I'm getting promoted?" He joked.

"In a manner of speaking." She walked him to the door.

"I just wish I could get Jennifer here."

"You can't do it for her. It has to be _her_ decision, remember? _You_ were ready to go to the cemetery. _You_ wanted to be there when Lucien's marker was placed. _You_ were ready. She's not. She's operating by her own hourglass."

"I know, I know. Do you always have to be right?"

"Not always, but it's good for business." She winked.

"Have a good weekend." He swung his jacket over his shoulder.

"See you next Tuesday."

They exchanged handshakes and Jonathan headed out to his car. The sun was shining and he decided to ride with the top down. April showers had brought their share of May flowers and the city parks, he observed as he cruised, were alive with greenery, blooms and people enjoying the outdoors. As he drove along the streets of downtown, he felt refreshed. Each time he left a therapy session it was like a rebirth. But unfortunately the feeling was fleeting. Once his car passed through the large wrought iron gate, those feelings of success and personal achievement withered. Jennifer's vacant stare was like a knife, cutting away any new growth he'd experienced within the paneled walls of Dr. McNichol's office. And the antipathy he felt when he walked through the door and found her once again hiding away from the world did nothing other than increase his guilt.

The car meandered along the busy roadway, and he hummed a familiar tune. It wasn't until he began singing the chorus quietly to himself that he realized what he was singing. It had been their song. Danny's Song. The theme that defined their journey to Lucien. Would he ever be able to hear that song and not think of his son? Without really thinking, he allowed the convertible to deliver him to the entrance of the memorial park. The traffic along the paved drive was heavy, with the sunny weather prompting many to visit their lost loved ones. Jonathan followed a green Lincoln to the back of the park, where his baby boy waited.

The Lincoln continued on, but Jonathan stopped and parked. The area of the cemetery known as Cherubs Garden was deserted. He stepped out of the vehicle and followed the path to a place that had become his home away from home. A place with nothing but a concrete bench and a slab of granite on the ground—meager fixtures for the home of a little prince. Taking a seat on the bench, he stared down at the words inscribed on marker. Like every time before, he couldn't stop staring at the date. Just one date. _How could something so perfect and so beautiful begin and end on the same day?_ A vivid memory slipped inside his head and he recalled the night they'd decided on his name.

 _"I think you did it. This might be the one."_

 _"It's perfect. Do you like it?"_

 _"I love it. It's not a name I would have thought of on my own. But the meaning and everything…this is it."_

 _"And it's French, which would be in my mother's honor."_

 _"So do we agree? Is this the name we love for our son?"_

 _"Yes, if you're happy with it."_

 _"I think it's meant to be."_

Jonathan couldn't help but smile, though his eyes were laced with tears. He could see her eyes and the excitement and happiness of that tender moment. The special times they'd shared were countless, but that one particular evening remained high on his list of best moments in his life. He continued to study the marker for several minutes, trying again to recreate the feeling he'd had that night. Bending down, he brushed a few blades of grass off the edge of the monument then reached in his pocket for his handkerchief. Gently, he wiped the granite surface clean, unaware that he was once again humming their song.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Jonathan, you look wonderful." Diane kissed him on the cheek.

"Thanks, Di." Jonathan embraced her affectionately.

"You really do look good. You've been on our minds a lot." Archer shook hands with his old friend.

"Well this was a fabulous idea. I know Jennifer will be really happy to see you both."

"How is she doing?" Diane wanted the truth and not some standard polite response.

"There's not been much change really. But the fact that she's agreed to have lunch with us is a good sign."

"When our drinks arrive, let's make our first toast of the afternoon to good signs, shall we?"

"I'll drink to that." Jonathan nodded.

"Is she driving now?" Diane inquired.

"No, she hasn't driven since before Easter. Barbara and Max are dropping her off then we'll head home together."

"Has she gone to see Dr. McNichol yet?" Diane asked.

"No." He shook his head, staring down at his hands.

"But you're still going right?" She pressed him.

"Twice a week. At first it was three times, but she's cut me back to two visits a week now."

"Well, it's certainly working. You seem to be moving forward." Archer confirmed.

"She's really helped me to step back and look at what's happened from a lot of different angles. I just can't believe it's been over six weeks now. But listen, we didn't come here to discuss my therapy. We came here to enjoy a nice relaxing lunch with good wine and good conversation." Jonathan smiled at his dear friends, eager to regain some normalcy in his social life.

"Good wine and good conversation but not good weather. This damn rain again. We could be dining out on the patio." Archer complained.

"Oh well. This too shall pass." Jonathan winked as the waiter delivered a bottle of their finest.

They sampled the wine, wasting no time in approving their choice. After several hearty toasts, Diane gave Archer a look, which Jonathan zeroed in on immediately.

"What?" Jonathan asked.

"We debated on whether or not to tell you but since you seem to be doing so well, I just don't see the point in keeping it secret." Diane spoke with a compassionate tone.

"Tell me what?" He asked again.

"We stopped by the cemetery the other day." Archer spoke.

"We wanted to see if the marker had been placed." Diane added.

"Well that was very thoughtful of you. Why would you have debated about telling me?"

"We didn't want to upset you in any way."

"I've made a lot of trips to the cemetery. In fact, I stop their after every appointment I have with Dr. McNichol. It's kind of my way of letting LP know my progress."

"The marker is beautiful, Jonathan. Just beautiful."

"Thank you very much. I'd actually forgotten what I'd selected until I saw it for the first time. I was a little out of it then."

"We left some flowers—an assortment of yellow and white blooms."

"Those were from you? I wondered who'd left them. They're lovely. Really."

"We don't want you to think that we've forgotten, Jonathan." Diane reached for his hand.

"I know you haven't. But I don't want you to feel obligated to mention it every time we're together either. If it comes up, it comes up. If it doesn't, it doesn't. I know you both care and care deeply. You don't have to make a special point." He gave them a reassuring nod.

The waiter returned, ready to take their order. Jonathan asked for another minute and Archer studied the wine list, eager to request another bottle. Checking his cell phone, he was beginning to worry. Max was nothing if not punctual. Like Stephen, he despised tardiness in all forms. _I wonder what's keeping them?_ His thoughts returned to the conversation they'd shared at breakfast. He'd reminded her of their lunch date and she'd seemed genuinely enthusiastic about seeing Diane again. Max had been within earshot, offering to personally delivery her to the restaurant during his outing with Barbara. Surprisingly there'd been no hesitation or reservation. But maybe that had changed. Surely Max would have called if she'd once again had a change of heart. He sipped his wine, contemplating how to proceed with his lunch guests. It was one thing to keep him waiting, but he would not allow her to inconvenience the Martins no matter the excuse. He could see her, lying unresponsive in their bed with Max pleading for her to get dressed. It had played out too many times before to be anything on the contrary. And with each sip of wine, he became more and more upset. The waiter returned and Jonathan knew it was time to make a move.

"Would you excuse me for a moment? I want to check in with Max. I'm sure Jennifer's just running behind schedule."

"Of course. Take your time. We've got all afternoon." Archer raised his glass in Jonathan's direction.

He walked briskly passed the hostess stand and toward the men's lounge. It'd been forever since he'd used a payphone, but with the weather and the design of the building, he didn't care to waste time with his cell. He searched his pockets, collected the necessary changed, and dialed their home number. _Please don't be there. Please be on the road._ But his wish was not granted. Max answered on the first ring.

"Hart Residence."

"She's not coming is she?"

"Mr. H?"

"Put her on the phone. Hold it to her ear if you have to." His tone was direct.

"What are you talking about?"

"Let me talk to Jennifer." He could not hide the frustration in his voice.

"She's not here. She's with you."

"She's not with me. You and Barbara were supposed to bring her here—to the restaurant to meet me and Archer and Diane, remember?"

"She told me that she'd talked to you and that she decided to drive and meet you herself."

"She did what?"

"She left here about an hour and half ago. Said she had a stop to make and that she'd meet you guys at the restaurant."

"Oh God." Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. Suddenly, the thought of the heavy rain, coupled with the slick roads made him feel nauseous.

"You mean she hasn't shown up yet?"

"No." Jonathan's hands began to sweat and he felt his heart pound.

"You want me to call the police or something?"

"No, you just stay there in case she comes home. I'll go look for her."

"But she could be anywhere." Max's voice echoed with alarm.

"Or the one place she's longed to be for weeks."

XXXXXXXXXX

The convertible slowly made its way along the winding drive. He could see her dusky silhouette, seated alone on the all too familiar concrete bench. The rain continued to fall, but had subsided somewhat. She sat motionless with no coat or umbrella to protect her. He pulled up next to her vehicle and sat, watching. She made no indication that she was aware of his presence. For six weeks, she'd made no indication of anything.

Seeing her there alone in the gray mist brought the haunting pictures of a nightmare back into his mind. His Christmas dream of Jennifer and a baby, turned to stone. A dream brought to life with the death of their son. The same scene now playing out in real time before him, as the windshield wipers moved back and forth, distorting her image every few seconds. His beautiful wife, sitting alone on a concrete bench, turned to stone.

He pulled an umbrella from the back seat and turned up the collar of his raincoat. Taking a deep breath, he exited the car. Walking along the gravel path, he searched his mind for the right words. The words necessary to bring her back. But he found no words of comfort. Not even one. He sat down beside her, shielding her from the rain with the umbrella. She neither spoke nor moved. There at their feet sat the granite reminder of the tiny life that forever changed them. Again he studied the date. _Has it really been six weeks_ , he wondered. Minutes, hours, days…time had no meaning in their house anymore. They'd lived day to day, week by week, basking in the glow that each new moment brought. Days that brought them closer to each other and to their baby boy. Days filled with letters and light.

 _Maybe you have to be her flashlight now._ Max's words echoed inside his head as he wrapped his arm protectively around Jennifer's shoulder. Instinctively she stood, still silent, but not fighting. She knew it was time to go. Jonathan helped her through the muddy mire to his car and she leaned her body against his for support. It was the first time she'd responded to his touch in weeks. He popped open the trunk and quickly retrieved the plaid blanket, wrapping it securely around her soaking wet body before opening the passenger side door. He waited until she was safely inside before closing the umbrella. As he made his way around to the driver's door, he stopped. Looking up at the darkened sky he paused and closed his eyes, allowing the rain to wash the tears off his cheeks.

The car crept through the cemetery and Jennifer stared out the window without blinking. Tiny drops of rain sparkled in her hair. She could feel Jonathan's eyes on her and knew he was trying desperately to reach her. She studied the drops of rain on the window and the jagged little trails they made in their random quest to join up with other droplets. Watery soldiers on an erratic and hasty path, silent in their journey and continually joined by more and more.

"We've got to get you home and out of those wet clothes." Jonathan finally broke the silence between them.

Jennifer kept her gaze fixed on the rain soaked window, reaching up to trace the path of one droplet that caught her eye.

"Please don't make me go back there. I can't go back there. I'll go anywhere but I can't go back home."

XXXXXXXXXX

It was dark when the headlights bounced off the main gate. They hadn't been to the cabin since the night they'd found out they were indeed having a son. Jonathan stopped for gas and managed to score a few essentials for them, as they had nothing but the clothes they were wearing. A quick call to Max so he wouldn't worry was followed by a call to the auto club to pick up Jennifer's SUV from the cemetery. Jonathan had watched her through the window as he filled up the tank. Their four hour journey had felt more like eight. Jennifer's silence was deafening, compounded by the argument he held with himself the entire way there.

She surprised him by offering to help carry in the few bags of groceries. Her hair was almost dry now, but she still remained in damp clothes and the plaid blanket hung limply around her shoulders. Jonathan went directly to the closet in their bedroom in search of something dry for her. He found an old flannel fishing shirt and some sweatpants, along with a pair of fuzzy wool socks in the dresser. He laid them neatly on the bed before returning to the kitchen.

"I found some dry things for you to put on. It's not much, but you really need to get out of those damp clothes." He pulled the blanket from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

A heavy silence hung between them as they stood face to face, barely touching yet miles apart.

"Why don't you go get changed and I'll get a fire going. Alright, Darling?" He looked into her eyes.

"Alright." She turned away from him and walked to the bedroom, shutting the door with an eerie silence.

Jonathan busied himself with the task of building a fire. It was unseasonably cool outside for May and within minutes, the glow of the flames on his face made him feel better. He returned to the kitchen, eager to organize the few items he'd picked up. Searching the drawers, he located a corkscrew. He didn't know if she would join him, but he had to try. He found two wine glasses in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. After a quick rinse, he poured them each a glass of Merlot. He carried them into the Great Room, where he settled himself on the sofa and waited for her. Watching the flames dance and hiss, he could see her face and the haunted and hollow expression that had occupied her eyes for weeks. A picture that time might never erase, he feared. He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway of the bedroom—her frail frame draped in the baggy flannel shirt. Her hair was wet again and he prayed that a hot shower and a warm fire would be enough to help her open up.

"I poured us some wine." He motioned to the glass.

"Thank you." She walked slowly toward him, taking the glass from the coffee table before sitting down. Quietly curled up on one end of the sofa, she sipped her wine with thoughts lost in the flames.

"You took a shower?"

"Yes." She nodded with eyes firmly fixed on the fireplace.

"Feel better?"

"Much." She paused again and an uncomfortable silence surrounded them.

They sat on opposite ends of the sofa, drinking wine and watching the fire. Husband and wife…mother and father…total strangers. Jonathan struggled to find his way through the labyrinth of emotions and thoughts inside him. The words were there, if he could only coax them out. He reached out for her feet, lifting them into his lap. Gently, he rolled the wool socks down, pulling them off and letting them fall to the floor. He lightly ran his hands across the tops of her feet, massaging them tenderly. She didn't protest, as he'd half expected. He hadn't touched her—hadn't felt the softness of her skin on his own in what seemed like forever. His hands were filled with life for the first time since Lucien's death as he traced the lines of her toes. He could see the tiny toes of their baby boy in Jennifer's. His heart beat increased and he knew he needed to focus on something else. He turned his eyes back to the fire. So many wonderful moments in their marriage existed without words or conversation of any kind. This was not one of them. He watched the clock on the mantle slowly moving time forward in the tiniest of increments. After sitting in silence for close to twenty minutes, he could stand it no longer.

"You really scared us when you didn't show up for lunch." He continued to rub her feet with a soothing touch.

Jennifer remained stoic, making no acknowledgment of his statement.

"Jennifer?" He stopped and held her feet tightly in his hands. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes?" She whispered, her gaze still frozen.

"You could at least answer me." He looked directly at her, but she avoided his stare. The light of the fire shined in Jennifer's eyes, but nothing more. Again, she made no response.

"Jennifer, are you gonna answer me?" His normally understanding tone was observably turning to one of annoyance.

Her focus shifted from the fireplace to the glass of wine in her hand.

"Jennifer, it only works when both people engage. It's called _con-ver-sa-tion_." The sarcasm in his tone was clear.

She mumbled something to herself, shaking her head with an aggravated expression.

"You know what? I've got a better idea. Don't answer me." His tone was firm.

"What?" She turned her eyes to his, surprised by the sudden change in his voice.

"I don't want you to answer me." His eyes pierced hers. "I want you to yell at me. Scream at me! Throw something—break something. Hell, I'd love for you to tear this whole place apart. Just do one goddamn thing to show me that you still have a heart beating inside you!"

He hadn't meant to, but it was too late. The calm tone he'd promised himself he'd maintain was gone, and he couldn't hold it in any longer. He braced himself for the shouting match that was sure to come. Weeks of walking on eggshells around her. Days and nights spent living alone in what he could only define as the lowest point of his life. He'd returned to being the thing he feared most: Lonely Man.

She jerked her feet from his grasp and slammed the wine glass on the table. He caught her hand and pulled her back down beside him before she could make a get away.

"Let go!" She tried to wrestle away from him.

"No! I'm not letting go! Your answer to everything is running away. You've been running for weeks and it stops now!" He held fast to her wrists.

"Jonathan, let me go!" She struggled to free her arms from his grasp.

"No! I'm not letting go until you look at me. I mean _really_ look at me Jennifer. You haven't looked at me in six weeks! You haven't done a damn thing in _six weeks_!" He held her by her shoulders.

"That's because _my_ heart stopped beating six weeks ago!"

"And so now you're just giving up, is that it? You're quitting? Is that what you're telling me?"

"You don't understand." She looked away.

"I don't understand? _I_ don't understand? I understand that everyday you break off another piece of my heart, Jennifer, and there's not much left. It's almost all in a box buried with Lucien. But I kept one little piece—one tiny, little piece for you with the hope that maybe, just maybe, you'd be able to plant a seed in me and help it grow back. But everyday, you just kill it off. Every time I hear you crying in the shower, every time you cry out in your dreams, every time you slip off by yourself in the nursery. You're killing yourself, you're killing me, you're killing us. The us that you were so afraid of losing. You're killing it! You! So if this is your way of telling me your life is completely over—"

"I don't know what I'm telling you because I don't _feel_ anything anymore!" She shouted back at him, feeling a rush of heat run through her face. "I felt it all. Everything, Jonathan, everything for nine months, and then it's all just ripped away. I did everything I was supposed to do and now it's gone. How I am supposed to feel? You tell me! Because that part of me—the part that feels—that part is gone!"

He grabbed her hand, placing it over his heart, holding it firmly against him. "Can you feel this? Can you? Do you know what this is? This is my heart. It's the same as yours. It's broken, just like yours. We're victims of the same disease but you don't see it! We're suffering the same affliction, only I've decided to fight and you've decided to give up."

"How would you know what I've decided or what I feel? You don't know because you never felt him move inside you!" She shouted again.

"So you think that just because I'm a man or that I wasn't the one to carry our baby that that somehow makes me immune to the pain? 'Cause if that's what you think, then you don't know me. You never knew me!" He felt the rage rising inside him, and he resented her for it. They were treading on dangerous ground, balancing on a cliff where hateful words stood ready to push one of them over the edge.

"Well I'm sorry if my grieving bothers you…" She snapped, jerking her hand away from him. "You didn't buy a book on how to grieve for a dead baby, Jonathan. I guess I'm not doing right." Her tongue lashed at him violently.

"I have tried to be there for you from the moment we left the funeral. You keep pushing me away, and I don't know what to do or how to make you stop. I want to hold you and make it all go away and I need those things from you, Jennifer. I need to feel that from you too. You're not the only one here!" The anger in his voice was unmistakable.

"What do you want from me? You want me to say it? Huh? Is that what this is all about? Fine, I'll say it. It's my fault. Lucien's dead and it's my fault. There. Are you happy now? Feel better?"

"My God! Is that what you honestly think? You don't get it, do you? Just listen to what you are saying! This isn't about pointing a finger. You can't honestly believe that I hold you responsible for this." His heart hurt like never before. Her words stung his soul and pierced him to the point of tears.

"Our baby died, Jonathan! Our precious baby died!" She cried out as tears flowed freely down her cheeks with her body shaking uncontrollably. "I don't know what you want from me. I just don't know what you want from me." Her last words were mere whispers—a plea for help.

Jonathan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body against him. For the first time since they'd given their son back to God, she completely let go, falling against him in search of the comfort she so desperately needed. Comfort that could only be found in him. Her tired body felt lifeless in his arms, and together they sank to the floor. They held each other for a long time with only the sounds of their tears and the crackling fire around them.

 _You're still with me. You're still in there, full of hurt and anger and fear. All real feelings and proof that you're still here. And I promise to be right here with you. We will get through this, Jennifer. Just don't give up. Please don't give up. You're strong. You're the strongest person I've ever known._

"Losing Lucien is the hardest thing I've ever been through. I don't want to lose you too. I can't make it in this life without you." He squeezed her tightly.

"I am so sorry. I am so sorry. He was your son…and I…and I…" The words stalled and she felt her throat closing up.

"It's okay. It's okay." Gently he rocked her back and forth as her body continued to shake. Leaning against the sofa, he pulled her to his chest and held her.

"I didn't know that he…if I'd…if we'd just gone to the hospital a little earlier…"

"I never want to hear you speak those words again. It was an accident. An _accident_ and nothing more."

"I know you love him as much as I do. I just don't know what to do, Jonathan. I just feel lost."

"Then tell me what I have to do to bring you back to me. I need you. I need you more than I've ever needed anyone. I'll do anything. Just please come back to me. I don't want to do this without you." He ran his fingers through her damp hair.

"I can't do this again. I just can't. Please don't make me. If you really want to have a baby, then maybe I'm not the person you should be with." She looked down at her wedding ring, twisting it round and round on her finger.

"Oh Jennifer…" He felt the tears glide down his face. "How could you even think that?"

"I don't know. I'm just so afraid. I know how much you wanted this, but I'm just not that strong. I know you think I am, but I'm not. Not for this. I can't do this again. And it scares me to death that you might…or that I might be keeping you from something you want and need." She stopped, unable to verbalize the fear she felt of losing him.

"But I love you. God, I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone. You are my whole life. Without you, I have nothing. And I felt this love for you before Lucien—before we even got married. Having a baby or not having a baby won't change how I feel about you. I don't have to be a father to feel like a complete man. I became a complete man the day I fell in love with you."

As he wiped her tears with the cuff of his shirt, she reached and caught his hand, holding it in her own. Bringing it to her face, she held it quietly against her cheek. It had been so long since he'd felt a loving touch from her. He slipped his hand around the back of her neck, feeling her damp hair against his skin. He held it there for a moment, looking intently into her tear stained eyes. Beyond the layers of hurt and loss, he could see it—the tiniest sparkle of autumn in her eyes. He looked at her lips, wet with tears. He hadn't felt her lips since the night before Lucien was born. He'd had to love his wife without words and without touch—from a distance. He'd loved her through prayer and hope and now Fate had kept his promise—bringing her back to him. With his thumb, he brushed the tears from her lips then kissed her softly.

"I love you so much, Jonathan." She whispered.

"And I love you. More than you will ever know."

They spent the night in front of the fire, wrapped in the plaid blanket, and made love for the first time since they'd buried their son. The softness of every look and touch they shared as their bodies reconnected brought them back to the place they cherished most—a place that had grown dark with curtains drawn up tight in an effort to conceal all light. Their innermost room. Prayers of thankfulness filled him as he held her in his arms. The joy of once again feeling her skin, tasting her lips and drinking in the very essence of her being. It wasn't about satisfying his flesh. It went beyond desire and longing. She was his well—the only thing to restore his thirsty soul.

The flames died down, leaving only orange embers to light the Great Room. The cabin was quiet and for the first time in weeks, Jonathan felt he could actually lose himself in a deep sleep. Lying beside her, hearing the soft whispers of her breath, his thoughts returned to the words that Jennifer had penned during her first dark days in Africa.

 _The culmination of their journeys converged at this point. Seeing the dawn break on the horizon was proof that their prayers had been answered. A lone traveler no more, he walked hand and hand with her and their passage into this place of wonder and mystery was filled with hope._

"Jonathan?" She whispered, breaking the long silence.

"Yes?"

"I'm so sorry that I made you doubt my love for you. I've never stopped loving you. I was slipping away from myself and from you and you brought me back. You always bring me back. It's just like my mom wrote in her letter. You're my compass when I'm lost. You're everything and I pushed you away. I knew that I was slipping, like I was watching myself from outside my body. I was yelling at myself to wake up and come back to you but the deepest hurt in me wouldn't let me. I was just frozen. I just couldn't stop thinking about Lucien long enough to hear you calling out to me."

The words fell from her lips with a soft certainty that he hadn't heard in weeks. She spoke with honesty, conveying the thoughts and feeling that he'd selfishly longed to hear. This was the Jennifer he needed. The woman who shared her deepest emotions with him, giving him the courage to do the same. The night at the hospital had forever changed him. And now, feeling her hair against his cheek and knowing she found their path, she'd given birth to once more...healing him and quieting his fears.

"I don't ever want you to stop thinking about Lucien. I won't. He'll always be a part of us. The stars are a little brighter tonight because our Lucien—our Light— is shining down on us. Remember what The Little Prince said?

"I just wanted so much to be his mom." She could feel tears once again building in her eyes.

"You were his mom. You are his mom. You took care of him, and protected him and loved him as only a mother can." He gently ran his fingers through her hair, speaking to her in a calm, loving voice. "I want to show you something. I'll be right back."

He kissed her forehead before leaving her side. Silently his shadow moved across the walls of the Great Room, disappearing behind the door of their bedroom. Alone, Jennifer looked at the empty spot beside her. Lightly, she ran her hand along the spot where his body had been. It was still warm. He returned within a minute, carrying something—she couldn't make out what. He slipped back under the blanket beside her, flipping on a tiny flashlight.

"I want to read something to you."

She could see he was holding a wrinkled piece of paper. He looked at her with the sweetest of expressions, touching a place inside her that only his eyes could. Then, with the same honest tone that brought endless comfort, he read the words she'd written months before.

 _Well, it's getting late and I should probably turn off the light. Your father is laying here beside me, sleeping peacefully with a smile on his face. I know what he's dreaming about…his little angel boy. Or girl. Either way, you're an angel to us. I want you to know something right from the start: I promise to always be completely honest with you no matter what. There have been things in my past that have been painful and ugly and have led me to make some poor decisions where trust is concerned. I don't want there to be any secrets between us. And I want you to know that you are loved beyond measure by so many people. Your father has taught me so much about love and trust_ — _the most valuable lessons I've learned to date. I want to share all that and more with you. That's what family is all about. Love and trust._

"Only a mother could write something like this, Jennifer." He handed the letter to her. "We may not have Lucien anymore but there are two things that we do have. The two most important things we can share—and that's love and trust."

"Where did you get this? I threw this away weeks ago."

"No you didn't. I found it. I found all your letters. I've been carrying this one around in my wallet. I read it everyday with the hope that someday the woman that wrote this would come back to me."

"Oh." She tried to look away, but he caught her chin, turning her face back to his.

"I can't for the life of me figure out why you'd want to throw them away?"

"I just couldn't look at them."

"But these letters will connect you and Lucien forever. Every thought and wish you had about him and about us is there in your letters. Don't throw this part of us away, Jennifer. Your letters are your legacy to our son."

"It just hurts too much." She took a deep breath, trying to keep her tears in check.

"It hurts because it was real. It can only be real if there's a chance you'll get hurt. There are gonna be days when you feel the pain so deeply, but I promise that I will be here with you. And I'll need you to pick me up on my dark days. Some couples never even get the chance to experience what we did. We stood in the light for a little while…and some is better than none." Jonathan remembered the honest words that came to him from Max's hospital bed.

"What did you do with your letters?" She looked up at him with glassy eyes.

"You know about my letters?"

"I accidentally stumbled across them."

"Oh." Jonathan was unsure what to say.

"They made me laugh and cry. All you fatherly advice. They're beautiful. They're just beautiful, Jonathan."

"I meant every word. Every single word."

Jennifer looked down at the wrinkled paper in her hands. "You saved them all? All my letters?"

"Every one of them." He nodded.

"You know, you've given me some special gifts, but this—this one means more than any of them. I have cried so many tears over the loss of these letters. I just wasn't myself when I threw them away. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay. I have all the letters and they're safe. I even have the letters from your father and Max."

Jennifer offered her first smile in weeks. "Grandpa and Uncle Max. They loved him too, didn't they?" Her voice cracked.

"Yes they did. Very much." He wrapped his strong, protective arms around her. "Our baby was precious and perfect and we all loved him. We'll always love him."

The room quieted again and in minutes he found himself once more at the threshold. _It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity..._

"I was so afraid that I would never hold you again." He whispered as he drifted.

"Just don't let go. I need you, Jonathan. Don't ever let me go."

 **TBC**

 **Why not wipe your eyes and leave a review?**


	25. Epilogue

His sleepy hand drifted to the other side of the bed, silently searching for the warm skin of the woman beside him. Like a magnet he was drawn to her, even in dreams. The night at the cabin had been an answered prayer, renewing his faith in God, himself, and the life he'd stopped living for six long weeks. She'd come back to him, wandering along a path of hurt and uncertainty until she found herself securely back in his waiting arms. And for the second night in a row, in the comfort of their bedroom, he'd fallen asleep beside his wife and not a ghost. All the little pieces of Jennifer that she'd kept hidden were now his once more. Her silky hair on the tips of his fingers. The gentle brush of her foot against his. The calm sound of her breath as she drifted off. Though he knew the days ahead of them were still unclear, with traces of dusky shadows hovering around them, he was filled with hope for the first time in a long time. But his hand came to rest upon cold, empty sheets and immediately it pulled him from his peaceful existence.

He sat up, rubbing his tired eyes and listening. Their bedroom was dark with only the muffled sound of Freeway's breathing in the air. A check of the clock along with a familiar pain in his heart confirmed his worst fear. With a heavy sigh, he fell back in defeat against his pillow. He laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. There was nothing new to focus on. He'd lived this routine for weeks. He was certain, just a few hours before, that his nights would be what they once were and that searching for Jennifer in the hours before sunrise were over. They'd blossomed; their shared tears watering each other as they lay together in front of a warm fire. But now, lying alone in their darkened bedroom, Jonathan swallowed hard knowing that the tiny bit of growth they'd cultivated at the cabin had withered away in just a day's time.

As he stared up at wood beam above him, he wondered. Would she be sitting the rocking chair, holding the happy Steiff bear while her tears rained down on his little stuffed head? Or would she be on the bed, studying the black and white images of his ultrasound pictures? Had she fallen asleep on the floor beside the crib amid a collection of cherished children's books? Perhaps she'd found the box of letters, and was now fighting her way through every emotional line. He sighed again and sat up, bringing his feet to rest on the floor beside the bed. With his head in his hands, he tried to collect himself. Though he'd staggered down the dark hall from their bedroom to the nursery many times, he suddenly felt weak.

He made his way into their bathroom. A splash of cool water on his face and a quick sip from the tap was followed by a look in the mirror. A good, long look. As much as he wanted to run to her and drag her away from reality, he knew deep down that reality was the only thing that could bring her back. Real life. Real feelings. Real love. Those were the things she needed, but only when she was ready. _She's operating by her own hourglass._ Dr. McNichol's words bounced around inside his head for a moment, giving him his own shot of reality...and one that he frankly didn't like. He wanted to speed up time. Get them down so far down the road that they could barely recall the sleepless nights and days without a light switch. But to distort the pain would distort the image of a little prince. And that was something Jonathan never wanted to forget.

Another sigh escaped him as he turned to make the fateful journey down the hall. His legs were much heavier this time, with the harsh realization that their return to happiness would indeed take more than just one night in each other's arms. The door at the end of the hall seemed to drift further and further away and with each step he took the hallway resembled an endless corridor. The anger he'd felt on other nights, taking this same walk, was now replaced with disillusionment. He'd lost her once. He didn't know if he could do it a second time. He stood at the closed door, listening for signs of life. The room was quiet and he could find no trace of light from within. With his hand on the doorknob, he took a deep breath as he prepared to cross the threshold back into a place filled with regret and despair—Square One.

He peeked inside, surprised to find the room just as it was when he went to bed. The rocking chair was still. The bed was neatly made. All toys and books were quietly resting in their places. The moon and stars nightlight had gone to bed as well. There was no sign of Jennifer...and for that he was thankful. He returned to the stairway, praying she was just one floor below and not sitting alone on a cold concrete bench in the dark. He could see a dim light coming from the living room and as his feet hit the wood floors at the bottom of the stairs he turned and caught sight of his wife, curled up on the sofa. She was wrapped in one of his robes with a book balanced lightly on her lap. Silently he made his way to her, smiling as he observed a serene expression on her sleeping face. He studied her delicate hands for a minute, noticing for the first time the absence of her mother's ring on the middle finger of her left hand. Was it a sign or merely an oversight? He'd been hurt too many times to allow himself to read too much into it. His eyes traveled down the length of her body, stopping at her feet. Again he smiled, seeing Lucien's tiny toes in hers. Unable to resist, he sat down gently on the edge of the sofa and rubbed her feet with a light, loving touch.

"You never could let me rest, could you?" She whispered before opening her eyes.

They sat without speaking for several minutes as Jonathan continued to rub her feet. Jennifer closed her eyes once more, shifting into a more comfortable position.

"Are you okay?" He asked, finally breaking the silence.

"I'm fine." She gave a slight nod.

"When I rolled over and you weren't..." He started.

"You thought the worst?" She opened her eyes and stared at him with a serious expression.

"I be lyin' if I said otherwise."

"Jonathan," She sat up. Softly she traced the seam on the sleeve of his t-shirt for a moment as she collected her words.. "I can't guarantee those nights are over. I-I just can't think that far ahead."

"I understand." He reached up and touched her hand.

"I did walk down to Lucien's room. I stood at the doorway for a long time, you know, trying to decide if going in would..." Her voice trailed off and she dropped her eyes from view.

"You don't have to explain. And don't feel like you have to hide it from me either." He gave her hand a squeeze. "I just want you to promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Don't try to do this on your own."

"I know." She whispered, avoiding his eyes.

"Jennifer?" He lifted her chin.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

He spoke with a low, husky tone, gently running his finger along her cheek. It was the same voice that flirted across the table at a hidden pizzeria. The same voice that made her laugh inside a small, smoky bar. The same voice that wrapped around her like a warm plaid blanket. She didn't respond right away, but lost herself inside his honest eyes instead.

"I know you do. And that's made all the difference." She squeezed his hand in return.

He turned his attentions to the book in her lap, eager to see what she'd chosen to give her thoughts over to in the middle of the night. He hadn't seen her touch a book or magazine in weeks. And forget her laptop. As far as he knew, the thousands of words she hadn't spoken over the past month and a half were buried somewhere deep inside her. But seeing something as simple as a book in her hand filled him with relief. It was just one step closer to the real Jennifer.

"What are you readin'?" He asked.

"Another classic." She held up the book and he read the cover silently.

"Are you a fan of Zane Grey?" He asked, moving closer to her.

"Not so much. I just always wanted to be a cowboy." She shared a playful smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

 _Dear Pa,_

 _Do you remember Libby? That raggedy stuffed bunny that I insisted on dragging all over creation? Of course you do. I'm sure there were times that you cursed that poor bunny's existence as you spent many a bedtime searching high and low for her, knowing that I would not fall asleep until my hands were wrapped securely around her floppy ears. I've often wondered what happened to my dear old friend. I like to think that she found her way into the arms of a loving child. Or maybe, like the Velveteen Rabbit, she became real. Perhaps she was one of those bunnies we discovered inside that old hollow tree that day we were out riding. I guess it doesn't really matter where she is, only that I remember every stitch of her little pink body, every secret we ever shared, and the way she made me feel when I held her. She added a unique color to the canvas of my childhood, creating a layer that changed me forever._

 _I still remember the night you tucked me in with the sad truth that my precious Libby was gone. I can see with perfect clarity the look in your tear stained eyes as you moved your hand gently through my hair. I understand now how hard that must have been for you. You've always wanted to shield me from pain. You've always tried to protect me from the sins of the world. You've always shown me the one thing that every human desires and needs as much as breath itself—unconditional love._

 _It was those same eyes that stared down at me on Easter morning, as you stood bravely by my hospital bed. I wasn't able to acknowledge it then, and it's so fresh it pierces my heart still, but seeing your eyes and feeling your arms around me allowed me to fall away with the assurance that you would catch me. You've always caught me. And I know that as long as you're able, you always will. That's what daddies do. And though the tears I tasted were the most bitter, knowing that another precious bunny had slipped away, I always felt your love. And I know I always will. Today. Tomorrow. Always._

 _I don't quite know how I managed to do it, but I have surrounded myself with loving, gifted men who are much better writers that I. The feelings and emotions that you expressed to me in your letter have haunted me for days and days. And it's with your honesty and Jonathan's support that I now find myself sitting in a place I couldn't have imagined just a few weeks ago. I wander off the path for a long time, but today I will plant my feet solidly back upon it with the hope that one day I'll be strong enough to make this journey again._

 _After much thought, I've decided to return LP's riding boots to you, along with a request. I would like you to place them on the large shelf in the tack room, if you don't mind. Who knows? There may be a tiny stable fairy in need of just such a pair._

 _All the love I can give,_

 _Jennifer_

"You can go in now." The receptionist announced.

"Thank you."

Standing on shaky legs, she quickly stashed the notebook and letter in her tote. Slowly she crossed the waiting room, stopping to take one last breath. Her heartbeat increased and the place inside her that once housed a little prince was now home to a thousand anxious butterflies. One hand rested warily on the doorknob while the other disappeared inside her pocket, rubbing the tiny silver heart with a gentle touch. _I can do this_.

Dr. McNichol looked up from behind her desk as the door to her private office opened.

"Good afternoon. I'm so glad you're here." Her greeting was genuine and she stood, offering a handshake and a smile.

"Good afternoon."

"Right on time. Please come in and make yourself at home." The doctor pointed toward the blue club chairs.

"Thank you."

"Coffee?" Dr. McNichol asked, making her way to the comfy seating area.

"I don't think so."

"You sure?"

"I'm fine, really."

"Connie makes a mean cup of hot cocoa too, complete with a dash of almond if you're interested."

Jennifer couldn't help but smile, immediately put at ease by the woman sitting directly across from her. Though they'd never met, Jennifer felt a strange connection to her—the woman who'd help rebuild the person she loved most. For weeks she'd shared hours of intimate conversations with her husband, yet she felt no pangs of jealousy. Many times she'd imagined him sitting in her office, reliving the scenes of an Easter morning that brought both immense joy and indescribable sorrow. And now, after much soul searching, she found herself in the very same chair where her husband sat week after week. Though she'd debated and questioned this meeting for days, he'd helped her find the strength to pull back the curtain on her innermost room, allowing the first real rays of light back inside.

"A dash of almond?" Jennifer raised an eyebrow.

"Jonathan is a stickler for detail." Dr. McNichol grinned.

 **The End**

 **Thanks so much for reading and sharing your comments. I am truly appreciative!**


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